


The Night Witches Come

by Kellen_der_Heide



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, History - Fandom
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Badass Women, Discrimination, F/F, F/M, Somewhat Historically Accurate, Wizards caring about muggles, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 100,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25433611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellen_der_Heide/pseuds/Kellen_der_Heide
Summary: During the Second World War, a unit of female pilots is formed in the Soviet Union called the 588th Night Bomber Regiment, better known as the 'Night Witches'. What people don't know is that they actually were witches.What would happen if some wizards cared about the muggles in the Second World War? What would happen if some muggle-born women decided to stand up to lifelong discrimination and show the world what they can do? The world won't know what hit it! This is their story in the Harry Potter universe.
Relationships: OFC/OFC, OMC/OFC
Comments: 26
Kudos: 17





	1. From the Depths of Hell in silence

**Author's Note:**

> A.N.: This is my first fanfiction. I have been reading them like an addict for more than a year now and I just can’t stop. Then one day I was finally inspired to try writing one myself and here we are. I have to say that English is not my first language, so if you see mistakes that make you unreasonably angry please tell me, so that I can improve. I’m more used to writing scientific papers, so tell me if I have too much uninteresting fluff or an uninteresting style. I also really enjoy worldbuilding and I think you just have to suffer through those passages, but I’ll try to contain it. Lastly, I’m writing this purely for my personal entertainment and have no idea how, if or when I will continue this. If people even read it. But if you like it, I’ll continue more motivated. I had this idea in my head for some time now and I just want to explore it. Please be nice to me in your reviews, it’s my first time.
> 
> A.N. 2: It has always bothered me how the wizards in the Harry Potter universe can be so indifferent to the suffering of the muggles during the World Wars. This is a story about some wizards that cared and wanted to protect their people from suffering. Needless to say, it’s an AU and just based on the Harry Potter universe. Some ages and life stories of historical persons have been altered, though I’ll try to stay somewhat true to the historical events and persons, if only their names. No one will ride a dragon into Berlin to Avada Kedavra Hitler in his sleep, so don't expect a fic like that. I will most likely explore how a unit of witches could realistically stay a secret, yet still fight effectively. Also be aware that every war is awful, WWII doubly so, and my fic will reflect the suffering that was caused by the German invasion to the civilians and the soldiers, be they wizard or muggle.

Disclaimer: This is a fanfic, I don’t make money from this. I do not own Sabaton or their songs. I do not own Harry Potter nor do I own everything else written by J.K. Rowling or filmed on the base of her work. All the rights belong to them. I don’t own the occurring historical persons too, only my original Characters are my own.

Chapter 1: From the depths of Hell in silence

It was a cold night outside. It was just the end of September, but the nights already got long and cold. Minister of Muggle Affairs Grigori Athanasios Golovin sat at his desk and read the latest reports about the evacuations. The dark tones of the walls and furniture in his office reflected his mood. The muggle war had hit them unexpectedly and lots of homes, mainly countryside mansions and Datchas, had to be cleared of anything and anyone magical. He thanked the gods that most noble families lived in St. Petersburg, Novgorod or Moscow. The Muggles were invading in force and the people, mainly the poorer families and the Muggleborn, worried that they would be hit by the crossfire or discovered accidentally. Luckily, there were wizard communities beyond the Ural Mountains where they could go and he hoped it would be enough. The Muggles had steel war machines and flying things now, what were they called? He missed the old days, where you could fly your broom or carpet without having to worry about those things crashing into you.

A knocking on his door startled him from his dire thoughts. He wasn’t used to entertaining visitors this late, so he angrily called “Enter!” He saw a young woman, not older than 25 entering his office. He knew her well by this point and he just thought ‘Oh no, not her...’ as she walked to his desk.

\-----

Marina Raskowa was angry. Time and again she was dismissed by the Ministry Officials, to the point where they named her ‘Mad Marina’ and joked they could use her visits to time their watches. She argued her way through the bureaucracy up to the Ministry of Muggle Affairs. Now she had to argue for over an hour with Ivan Repnin, the Assisstant Minister of Muggle Affairs, just to secure an appointment with the Minister himself.

“It’s no use, Marina!” Ivan said angrily, “The Minister is very busy during these times and has just no time for your misplaced concern. The Muggles have their little wars and we-“

Marina cut him off: “Little wars?! My father was drafted and considering the reports I might never see him again! Some of my friends have lost their homes and some even their family members! You read the paper; what the muggles do to each other! Do you honestly think, they’ll stop at killing Muggles, Ivan?!”

Ivan raised his voice: “I know, and the German Ministry has assured us, that they will help us staying hidden. We read the same paper, you must know about this too!” He lowered his voice again, “I’m sorry that the relatives of your friends got killed, but what do you expect us to do? We can’t save the family of every Mud- I mean Muggleborn out there, we don’t have the resources and their disappearance would alert the Muggles.” He sounded like he had said his little speech 100 times before.

“This is just cruel and you know it!” Marina shouted, “Is the Minister in? I think I’ll just go talk to him! You can’t be his Assistant! You are just a soulless bureaucrat, a robot!” she spat and stormed past him to the door. ‘What is a robot?’ Ivan had time to wonder before she knocked. She had done it now and he would likely get yelled at again by the Minister. But so would she and if she wanted to ruin her chances with the Ministry, he wouldn’t stop her anymore. He could understand her concerns, his parents had to leave their main house near Odessa, the house he was born in, and go to their Datcha near the Volga. But the Ministry made the laws and they had to obey.

\--------

“For the last time, no! I won’t allow any involvement of Wizards in this matter! We are in secrecy for a reason and I won’t have centuries of work destroyed by a young Mudblood who forgot her place!” Grigori yelled. The argument had lasted about 30 minutes now and he just wanted it to end. He had an appointment with the Minister of Magic to visit the opera in Magical Moscow and was already late.

“You might note care about your family, you aristocratic buffoon, but we Muggleborns are suffering!” Marina yelled right back. The argument had already devolved into personal attacks, and his remarks about her status didn’t help, but she was too angry to quit now. 

The wizarding world was heavily prejudiced against Muggleborns like her. When she first found out that she was a witch, in the summer of 1930, she was euphoric. All the fairy-tales her father had told her seemed true, the world seemed full of new possibilities. She would leave her poverty for a magical school, and maybe even help her parents with spells and potions. Then at Durmstrang she faced prejudice and bullying. She always got the hard assignments, to prove that she was of lower power than the purebloods, she was sorted into the Commoner’s House and had to sleep in second-class rooms, eat the scraps of the House of Nobles; she even suspected that she was tricked when she converted her fathers hard earned Rubles to wizard-money. But she had succeeded. She made friends among her house-mates, stronger bonds of friendship than the noble purebloods, she suspected; she excelled at her studies and was even, under much protests, admitted to the Quidditch team. And now that war was upon her and her friend’s parents, she was told that her new community would just abandon them.

Just as the Minister was opening his mouth to respond, the fireplace in his office flared green and a man appeared, casually brushing ashes of his sleeves. Both turned their heads to him. He was dressed in robes that could pay for her tuition at Durmstrang ten times over, Marina thought bitterly. Over his robes he wore a heavy pelt coat and on his head was a felt cap adorned with gems. It was the Russian Minister of Magic himself, Prince Fyodor Alexios Khilkov.

He didn’t even acknowledge her as he turned towards the Minister and said with some annoyance in his voice “Gori, where were you? The opera got cancelled, the main act is ill or something like that. Let’s go to the Golden Dragon and have-“ At this he turned towards Marina. “Who is this lovely young lady? Gori, you scoundrel!” he laughed.

Grigori stood up and straightened. “Minister Prince Khilkov, this is Marina Michailowna Raskowa. She is the one who keeps pestering us about protecting the parents of Mudbloods in this Muggle war.”

The Ministers features lost their warmth and disgust was clearly visible on his face. “Ah yes. Well, the official policy was agreed upon by the Duma and the Secret Council and there is nothing you, I, or even Koschei himself could do about it, if he ever left his woods! I doubt you could do much even if we got involved, considering your... origins” he sneered.

Marina just saw red at his words “How dare you insult me, you inbred pig! I was in the top of my year at Durmstrang, despite sleeping on straw and eating leftovers! I achieved the school speed record on an old english broom that I repaired over many nights! I had to work doubly hard to achieve everything I did and to pay my parents back the money they scraped together so that I could have it better! And now those parents, along with countless others, are threatened by the war and have to worry about their children and themselves! But you wouldn’t know that, would you? You’ll just go to another mansion when the front draws near, your father doesn’t have to go to battle with just a muggle rifle and a helmet! And if the Germans win I’ll bet you’ll just make a deal with Grindelwald so you can keep your mountains of gold!”

At this Prince Khilkov got angry. Who was he to be insulted by some Mudblood? They were living in secret and sacrifices had to be made to keep it that way. But on the other hand, if this girl wanted to throw her life away... No, he couldn’t allow that.

Marina meanwhile switched to angry pleading and tears were shimmering in her eyes. “Why can’t you understand that we Muggleborn fear for our families and friends? All of my friends from the Commoner’s House at Durmstrang feel the same, and they are allowed to vote too, you know? Can you really afford to lose 25% of your vote? Just let us help the Muggles! We’ll do anything, swear any oath, even forfeit our magic should we fail! Just let us do something! Please, show a heart for once in your life!”

“Fine!” he yelled, throwing his hands up. “This night is already ruined! You truly want to throw your life away for some dirty Muggles?! Be my guest! You’ll swear a blood oath on your magic that you won’t be discovered and expose us, I assume you were taught about blood oaths...?” he looked at her, still wearing a look of disdain.

Marina could hardly believe it. Had he agreed to let them fight? She was so caught up in her ranting that she doubted his words for a moment.

“Well?” Grigori asked, growing visibly impatient.

“I-“ Marina wiped at her eyes. She was feeling hope for the first time since the end of June. “I was taught about blood rituals, yes.” She remembered her fourth year at Durmstrang. They had learned about blood oaths and though they were more popular four or five centuries ago, they were sill taught and used. If one broke the vow their magic was violently ripped from them, and most wizards couldn’t survive without their magic. Even if they did, they were never the same and expelled from all magical communities and often died lonely and sad deaths. And unlike the Unbreakable Vow, a blood oath couldn’t be escaped from with clever wording.

“I won’t disappoint you, Minister Prince Khilkov! Me and my friends won’t!”

The faces of both Officials showed no trust, but she continued anyway. “I, err... Me and my friends have already thought about how to do it. Our method will almost guarantee that we won’t be exposed or injured and even better, the Muggles won’t even suspect any magical involvement. We just need some brooms, good ones, and...”

As she explained the eyes of the two men grew wider and wider.

\------

The sound of engines echoed over the plains. She scanned the horizon with her small binoculars and saw the machines. They looked like the new Yakovlev Yak-1s she heard about. She pressed the stop and rewind buttons on her binoculars and examined them again. She was right, they were Yak-1s. She could understand why the Muggles built ever faster planes. Nothing compared to flying, but she thought she would still prefer a broom to some Muggle construction. That’s not to say that she wouldn’t mind if someone offered her to fly in one of them. Flying was flying and up there everything seemed so small and you felt like the king of the world. She wondered why Durmstrang didn’t teach about Muggle technology. Her non-magical older brother was an engineer and she could spend hours listening to him explaining engines and air currents and physical laws. But then she remembered all the bullies and prejudices during her time there and her mood worsened.

She heard a crack behind her and spun around, her wand in her hand. A woman stood next to the tree she was using for shade, raising her hands slowly.

“Relax, Sofiya, it’s just me” the woman said with a smile. She recognized her now, it was Marina, her classmate from Durmstrang. “Still sneaking around military bases watching the pretty planes I see.” she teased her.

“You know that I’m easily startled. This whole war doesn’t help either... But I just saw the new Yak-1s, so it’s not for nothing.” Sofiya replied, lowering her wand and putting it away. “Why are you so happy?” she asked.

Before she could react the other woman jumped on her and hugged her tight. “I did it!” she said, breaking the embrace. “You did what?” Sofiya asked.

“I convinced that asshole Khilkov! We have official permission from the Ministry to fight! We have to swear a blood oath and keep it an absolute secret and have a ton of forms to fill out and sign and we’ll have an Official from the Ministry watch us but we can fight! We can defend our families!” Marina laughed.

Sofiya couldn’t believe what she heard. The Minister had agreed? They could really fly into battle for all the Muggleborns and their relatives out there? She, like Marina in the Ministry, felt hope for the first time in a long while.

“Don’t look so shocked! We have to tell the others! We have to get brooms and enchant them! We have to get uniforms! We have to train! Come on, I’ll apparate you!”

The last thing going through Sofiyas head was the thought of all the work ahead of them. But she felt ready for everything the fates had in store for them.

\-------------------------

It was a hot day and an equally hot night. The June sun had burned the flats of the Donbass region and now that it was night the damn wind just wouldn’t start to bring some relief. General-Lieutenant Rodion Malinovsky sat down in his tent, opened his uniform jacket and grabbed some documents from the makeshift table to fan himself some air. ‘At least the damn Germans suffer the same night’ he thought bitterly. The war, entering its second year, wasn’t going well. Moscow could be held at least, but at terrible cost. The Red Army was still being beaten back, especially in the south. His Southern Front was stretched thin enough as it was, his soldiers deserved at least a cool night and some deep sleep.

Someone knocked on the entry-flap of his tent. “Enter!” he called. He was tired and just wanted to go to bed, he only got about 4 hours sleep per night without people bringing in late orders.

He was surprised when he didn’t recognize the man entering. That wasn’t surprising by itself, but the look of the man... That was no military uniform, he looked like someone who had only seen a uniform once while being drunk and then had drunk some more and dressed himself. He was wearing the jacket of the Imperial Russian Army with five medals on the wrong side, two of which were German. His trousers were dark red and made of a material that looked like snakeskin, his high black boots were polished but were made for a cavalry officer and even had spurs. It only took a split second for Rodion to be perfectly awake. The man was a spy and here to kill him!

He jumped up and his hand went to his service pistol but the strange man just waved a stick and suddenly he held his weapon in his hands. The man examined the gun as if he had never seen such a thing before. Rodion opened his mouth to scream, but the man waved his stick again and no sound could be heard.

“I apologize, Mr. Malinovsky, but this will be easier if you don’t alert your soldiers.” the man said with a business-like voice. “I assure you that I mean you no harm, quite the contrary, but if you call your men it will get... difficult. So how about a deal: I give you your Muggle weapon and your voice back, you don’t make a scene and hear what I have to say. We’ll be done in ten minutes and then you can go sleep. Nod if you agree.”

Rodion was stunned. Strangely clothed men, weapons flying out of his hands, someone with the power to take his voice... It was mad. He looked to the entrance of his tent and thought about just running. Maybe he would make it outside and his guards could take care of the rest. But on the other hand... if the man had strange powers he surely could stop him.

As if he read his thoughts the man said “Please don’t run and make this any more difficult. And hurry up, I have other, far better things to do than talking to you.”

A bit of red started to creep into Rodions face. He was a General-Lieutenant of the Red Army, Commander of the Southern Front. He was an important man, but the maybe-spy on the other hand had strange powers and maybe was even more important than him. He certainly had more power. Having no real other options he nodded. The man waved his stick in some grand gestures and Rodion could feel a strange warmth in his throat. The wizard also made the pistol return to its holster.

“Who...” he tested his voice, “Who are you? What are you?”

“My name is Sergey Vladislav Uvarov. I’m a member of the Russian Ministry of Magic and the new Special Attaché for the Muggle War.”

“What? Ministry of Magic? Muggles? I don’t understand” Rodion stuttered.

“Please, Mr. Malinovsky, let me finish. Yes, magic exists, it has since the dawn of time and so have wizards. We normally stay out of the affairs of the non-magical world, considering the witch trials and such follies of the past. You didn’t even kill one real wizard by the way. However, this war has changed things.” The man sat down at his desk, leaned back and crossed his legs. “Some of our people are not from Ancient Houses of wizards but are born to Muggles. They are called Mudbloods and are concerned about the fate of their families in this war of yours. They want to fight too, so that they can protect them from harm. Personally, I understand their feelings, but we have to remain secret at all costs, and that is where you come in. They have decided to form a unit of soldiers I think you call...” he searched the pockets of his jacket and took out a piece of yellowed paper. “Bomber Regiment. Is that the right word?” he looked at the officer.

Rodion could only nod. The man, no, Sergey Uvarov, nodded to himself and continued. “Yes, those steel machines you have that drop things. Primitive, if charming, if you ask me. Well, those Mudbloods have decided to form an... Air wing and fight against the Germans. The person in your government responsible for knowing about magical affairs has been notified, don’t worry. They will be classified as a top secret unit of the... 4th Air Army attached to your Army. They will follow the orders given by... I can’t read that name, whichever one of your officers is responsible for flying machines, and by extension your orders. To them and everyone else they will appear as a normal Bomber Regiment. I’m sure you know more of them. If you are asked you are to say that you are under orders not to tell anyone about it. The relevant documents will be provided by us.” With this he waved his stick, it couldn’t be a magic wand, could it? He waved it and a leather briefcase appeared on the table. Rodion swallowed. This was a fever dream, it had to be. Right?

“In this briefcase you will find all the documents to stop anyone from finding out about them. As to you, sign this document with the provided quill”

At this a roll of yellowed paper appeared on the table accompanied by a blood red quill. Rodion felt like he was in one of those old tales of evil wizards and dragons. Maybe these wizards would actually ride on dragons. He’d like to see the faces of the German anti-air gunners in that case...

“Tonight, please, Mr. Malinovsky!”, the wizard sighed.

Rodion sat down at the table and grabbed the paper. Upon feeling it he recognized it as parchment; this got stranger by the minute. He tried to read it but he didn’t get past three sentences before the wizard cleared his throat and looked at him with impatience. Sighing deeply he grabbed the quill and signed the paper. If this was a dream he might as well play along... He really hoped the stress finally got to him and he was dreaming. Upon finishing he felt a sharp pain on the back of his hand. He noticed that the ink was red... But that couldn’t be...

Mr. Uvarov gestured with his wand again and the parchment and quill flew to him. “Thank you for your cooperation. You signed a blood-deal, which means that, should you choose to reveal our secret to any non-magical person, you will die a horrible and painful death.” The man made the parchment disappear and stood up. “Then again, considering how you like to kill each other maybe you will try. Either way, I’m done here. You will be too, once the plan of action has been explained to you by the leader of the Mudbloods. I hope we never have to meet again.” with that the man walked out of the tent.

Rodion had time enough to seriously consider just running away into the night when he heard the entrance flap of his tent move again. He looked up and saw a young woman in a strange flying suit standing in his tent. She had a leather cap with goggles like those pilots from the Great War. She wore a dark long coat made of some kind of leather with matching gloves and fur boots. She had a happy smile on her face as she looked at him.

“Mr. General-Lieutenant, let me tell you about my Night Witches...”  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

End Note: That’s it, the Night Witches are ready to kick some asses. I have some plans for the next chapter, mainly introducing more of them and describing their formation and training. But they won’t reach the numbers they had in the real war, nor will they fight the same battles (though I’m undecided on that... we’ll see). All in all I’m happy how my first try turned out and maybe someone will even read it and be entertained, for however short amount of time it takes them to read it.


	2. Cast their Spells - Explosive violence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about everything happening before the last part of Chapter 1. 
> 
> The Night Witches are officially formed; Training; Arrival at the Front

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: Over 10 people read my first try! Yay! As a reward to you and myself we‘ll join the Night Witches in their training in the winter and spring of 1941/42. And I even got a Kudo!!!

Chapter 2: Cast their Spells – Explosive Violence

  
This was what she liked to do. Spending all of her time working on new spells or finding new uses for old ones. She had spent the better part of the week in the shed and the surrounding lawn, but couldn’t be happier. Both for the chance to work in the backyard of her schoolfriend and the opportunity to create something new. Sofiya Ozerkova had finally done it, she had not only converted an old Venik Model 12 broom into a comfortable two-seater, she had spelled it so that a Muggle would only see a wooden biplane. After discreetly asking her brother about different types of planes she finally decided on a Polikarpov Po-2. They were known for being slow but steady fliers and she knew no modern broom could reach the speed of a Muggle plane. The aircraft was also made from wood, just as the broom, which made the spell both easier and more powerful. At least she hoped, for her it appeared still as a broom. After checking her spellwork she sat down on the old sofa in her work shed and made plans on how to best test it.

When Yevdokia Bershanskaya entered the shed to bring her friend breakfast and a coffee, she found her slumped on the couch, head on her chest and gently snoring. She smiled, Sofiya always worked herself too hard. She conjured a small table, put the breakfast down and shook her. Maybe she could convince her to sleep in a bed next night. Sofiya awoke with a start, but calmed down once she remembered where she was.

“Morning, Doki… I must have dozed off there…” The other woman only smiled. “But I did it! The broom is ready, we just need to make a test flight.”

“That’s great Sofiya!” Yevdokia laughed, “Tomorrow we meet our official Ministry watch-dog, and I can’t wait to see the look in his eyes when he sees how far we have come. You should take the day off and catch up on some sleep. You look like a sleep deprived vampire.”

Sofiya massaged her eyes before grabbing the coffee. “Not when I haven’t flown it. Enchantments interfere with the performance of brooms, as you know, and I won’t crash into the ground at the first demonstration.” She took a sip of the coffee, “Maybe in the afternoon I’ll take a nap, too much to do now. Is Marina still coming over today?”

“She will be here for supper, don’t worry. Everything will go fine.”

Sofiya looked thoughtful. “I can’t but worry. About the war, about this project, about us…” - “Relax. Get some sleep and everything will seem better, trust me.”

Sofiya just nodded and grabbed a slice of bread. She would just have to wait and see… At least for now she only had to worry about her breakfast.

\----------  
Sergey Vladislav Uvarov cursed his fate. He had worked hard in Durmstrang to achieve good grades and all it got him was a position as the Junior Assistant of the Junior Assistant of the Minister of Muggle Affairs. It wasn’t fair. He was from a noble house, he should at least have gotten a job in the International Relations department, maybe even Magical Law Enforcement. But his family had lost most of their wealth and status hundreds of years ago. In the Table of Ranks they were listed as a minor family among minor families, and were treated as such. But at least they had noble and, more importantly, pure blood. And now he had to meet a group of Muggleborn witches who wanted to blatantly disregard the orders of the Ministry and fight in the Muggle war. When he first heard that he was to be made a Special Attaché he was ecstatic, but now he just suspected someone wanted to attach his name to this doomed endeavour. But orders from the Minister of Muggle Affairs couldn’t be ignored and he had to to what he was told. Maybe he could somewhat shift the inevitable blame to someone else…

He looked in the mirror one last time. He was still young, just 30, and good looking, he thought to himself. His long dark hair was tied to a low ponytail, as was the style among the nobles. He had inherited the aristocratic features of his father and looked good in his official robes and fur coat, he admitted to himself. With a sigh he turned around. Why delay the inevitable? He walked across his bedroom into the living room, grabbed a handful of floo powder, threw it into the fireplace and said “Yevdokia Bershanskaya Residence, Stavropol”. Maybe they would embarrass themselves and this will be over by Friday, he hoped.

When he exited the fireplace he paused. The room was richer than he expected. It was in a stone house and had three armchairs and two small tables arranged to a cozy sitting group. Filled bookcases lined the walls which were painted a warm and dark red. There was even one of those electrical lights on the ceiling. Whoever this Ms. Bershanskaya was, she had at least some money and some taste.

His eyes next fell on the group of women standing in front of the fireplace. He counted twelve witches and not one of them seemed older than 25. They were dressed differently, but all wore cheap, common robes and Muggle clothing. One took a few steps forward and smiled at him, though it didn’t seem to reach her eyes. She at least wore higher quality robes and even some jewellery, though he suspected it was cheap.

“Mr. Uvarov? I welcome you to my house. I’m Yevdokia Bershanskaya,“ She gestured behind her, “and there are the Night Witches.” She extended her hand to him.

Sergey nodded first at her and then at the others. “Sergey Vladislav Uvarov, Special Attaché for the Muggle War, at your service.” He gave the smallest bow he could, but made no attempt to grab the offered hand.

Yevdokia lowered her hand again and looked dissapointed, though she hid her expression quickly. “Well, a pleasure to meet you, Special Attaché Uvarov. I think we should get straight to business, yes?” Sergey nodded. “Very well. We talked earlier today and all agreed to our roles. I will have the overall command of our operation. This is Marina Raskowa, I think you heard of her in the Ministry.” She indicated the women to her left. “She will be my second-in-command and she will talk to the Muggles, as this was all her idea.” The woman nodded and he recognized her from the Ministry, though he would use ‘infamous’ to describe her standing there. 

“This is Sofiya Ozerkova, she came up with a way to enchant our brooms to fool the Muggles and will be doing the maintenance on them.” This woman looked like she hadn’t slept in days and dressed in a hurry, but she gave him a nod and a friendly smile.

“This is Serafima Amosova, she will be the third-in-command and handle our logistics.” The woman nodded and smiled. 

“This here is Valentina Stupina, she is working on a way for us to communicate during our missions and will handle everything concerning that.” She, too, nodded but didn’t smile.

The other women were introduced without mentioning of special roles. “And these are Vera Belik, Olga Sanfirova, Aleksandra Akimova, Khiuaz Dospanova, Natalya Meklin, Tatyana Makarova and Polina Gelman” She gestured at each women as she said her name, and each nodded at Sergey, some stiffly, others with a bit more enthusiasm.

After the introductions were made Ms. Bershanskaya turned to him again and said with a smile, “As you can see Marina and I have assembled the best female students of the Commoner’s House in this room. If you would follow us into my backyard, Sofiya has prepared a modified broom for you to inspect.”

She turned and walked out of the room, the others following her. Sergey sighed, ‘Well, at least they have put some thought into this’ he thought. He followed them and already thought about the healing spells he learned at school, should the inevitable occur.  
\----------  
“Well, Ms. Bershanskaya, I stand corrected”, Sergey admitted reluctantly.

They were again standing in the fireplace room. He expected some shoddy spellwork and haphazard modifications to the broom, but they surprised him. The seating was quite comfortable and the broom elongated so two could comfortably sit on it and still cast unobstructed. The plan was to modify six brooms. One woman would fly, the other would cast spells downward at the invaders. The broom-girl, Sofiya, had explained to him that the Muggle plane the broom was spelled to look like had two passengers as well and one would seem odd. They also had to fly low and in formation, as the plane would in combat, and simultaneously casting spells could be difficult. The plane was one of the slowest used by the Muggles, but the ‘Pilot’ still had to be good to reach the speed expected of that plane. Everything depended on fooling every single Muggle that might see them or even just know of them.

What really had surprised him was the craftsmanship of the illusion spell. A broom was already heavily enchanted and adding more spells was dangerous. But this Sofiya-woman had used a mixture of simple Runes and complex enchantments that didn’t interfere in any way with the brooms own enchantments. He couldn’t find any fault at first and second glance, but they still had to show it to multiple Muggles to confirm that it worked, both at day-time and night-time.

Yes, they still had a lot to do before the Ministry would clear them to fight, but it seemed they would actually achieve their goals. If they succeeded, maybe he could turn it into a substantial promotion for himself...

“I must say, I am impressed by the spellwork of Ms. Ozerkova.” At this, multiple women showed a small smile and Sofiya’s face turned a bit red as they looked at her with approval. “But I’m not an expert in such things and a Ministry Official still has to inspect the broom.” He saw the smiles falter, good. “Nevertheless, this… Endeavour of you shows promise, as much as it pains me to say it. Two days from now expect a Ministry Official to arrive here at 2 in the afternoon to conduct our tests. It is your responsibility to provide a suitable testing area and transportation. If you pass, expect another visit on the same day so that your blood oath can be taken. After that you are to train your tactics until the Ministry says you are ready for combat. Use the time you have to make a plan about how you plan to train. Pay extra attention to secrecy, no living being must know of your existence. I will see you in two days.” With that he grabbed some floo powder and disappeared into the green flames.

“Well…” Yevdokia sighed. “At least he doesn’t hate us.” - “Yes, he seems fair, at least by Ministry standards” Marina added.

“Okay, Night Witches”, Yevdokia said with a lot more enthusiasm “Let’s get to work. Serafina, think about our uniforms. We will fight in the summer and winter, but at over 100 km/h the wind is brutal in every season. If possible, stick to dark tones, but function is better than style, understood?” Serafina nodded. “Alright. Sofiya, continue to perfect the enchantments, you and I will fly at the demonstration. But go to bed first, and that is an order” she added with a smile. The tired woman only nodded.

“The rest of you, think about a place for us to train. Different terrain and no possibility of Muggles. We have one chance at this and we will use it! For the Night Witches!”

“For the Night Witches!” the other women shouted. Marina smiled to herself, feeling proud at seeing what she had helped create. She could hardly wait for training.  
\----------  
“Come on, third time’s the charm!”, Yevdokia shouted behind her. Sofiya was sitting behind her on the broom and they were racing over the Turan lowlands at over 100km/h. She wasn’t sure if she heard her. They definitely had to work out a way of communicating. Turning around she gave her ‘co-pilot’ a thumbs-up. Sofiya smiled weakly and nodded.

So far the training went well. Khiuaz, having been born in that region, made an excellent suggestion for a training area. It was flat and there were no Muggles around for dozens of kilometres. They put up some training dummies and nothing would be simpler than hitting them from a low flying broom, especially if someone else took care of the actual flying. Or so they thought. At that speed the wind was brutal and the caster, or ‘bombardier’ as the Muggles would call them, had to compensate. At least the first two ‘uniforms’ did well. They consisted of old pilot caps with goggles, charmed to be forever clean and water-repellant as well as a night-vision charm. The dark brown shirt and dark red trousers were made from leather and wool and likewise charmed, as well as the thick leather gloves for the ‘pilot’. Normally they would have long black coats as well, but they weren’t ready yet. The _bombarda_ spell also had a limited reach, and the window of time was small, just a few seconds to look for where to cast, aim, and actual casting. Without being able to communicate accurately, the caster also couldn’t be brought into a better position. At least they were working on that problem. But, Yevdokia thought, they had a lot to train for if they couldn’t even hit stationary targets on an endless flat.

At least the feeling of flying was nice. She hadn’t felt that free in some time, and flying at top speed while the ground beneath and behind her exploded made her grin like a fool. If they could actually pull this off, the Germans were in for a surprise. But they were not ready for it yet, and wouldn’t be for quite some time.

“Ok, Sofiya! Targets ahead! Do your best!” she yelled, hoping her caster heard her. She held the broom as steady as she could and hoped for the best. She didn’t hear the spell, but heard the explosion. Immediately after she heard a faint yell and a hand gripped her from behind. “I did it! By Koshei I did it! I hit two or three targets I think!” Sofiya shouted in her ear. She turned around and saw a small crater in the target area, quickly getting smaller.

“One more run! Let’s do it again! Let’s get them all!” she yelled back, turning to her caster. Sofiya grinned madly and she couldn’t help but join her.  
\----------  
The Ministry Official was deeply invested in studying the broom. When Sergey was told that they would be going to the Turan lowlands he wasn’t really thrilled. He only knew that the place existed from having once looked at a map and by the looks of it he didn’t miss anything. But at least it was sparely populated and not many animals were around. The introductions were as coldly as two days ago, but the Official didn’t mind. He was Semyon Demetrios Saltykov, the former Minister of Magical Transport. In his youth and adult years he was very athletic and competed in broom races, but since he took his office and especially after retiring he got quite fat and bald. He retired four years ago, but in his time he reformed the safety inspections of new brooms and other magical transport. He also fought against illegal broom-modifications that posed a danger to the user and innocent bystanders. It was quite ironic that he had to inspect a broom that during his years in office would have gotten the owner a hefty fine. Sergey hoped he wouldn’t be too angry at his task, but it wasn’t like broom manufacturers made war-brooms for use on Muggle battlefields. So they had to make them themselves, but the Ministry at least could assure their safety. He wasn’t overly concerned though, as a private citizen Mr. Saltykov was a pleasant enough man, often telling funny stories about brooms or his two years as Flying Instructor at Durmstrang, straight out of school. But he still was a Noble and demanded respect. Now he first looked at the broom, then flew around in both seats and then looked at it some more. He wondered how long this would go on...

Sergey was lost in his thoughts and only came back as he heard Mr. Salykovs deep voice laughing happily. “Well, well, well, Ms. Ozerkova. As far as I’m able to tell this broom here is in perfect working condition. The additional enchantments are not interfering with the functionality and she flies as fast as the wind. I shudder at the thought that the Muggles have machines many times faster than this broom… But I can think about this at home, eh?” he laughed again. “If you did this while I was at the Ministry, I wouldn’t know if I should have fined you or referred you to a broom manufacturer. You passed your inspection.”

At his words the women cheered. They passed the first test! They could begin making more brooms and they could finally train in earnest.

Semyon gestured at them to quiet down, but it took some minutes for the cheers and celebrating to die down. “Now, now, ladies! I said that this broom passes, but we still have to do the Muggle-Test and I will have to inspect the other six brooms you are planning to make. I think that they will all pass my inspection as well as this has, but there is a procedure to observe.”

But the Night Witches didn’t care. They were still smiling and laughing and looking at Sofiya with admiration.

Sergey cleared his throat. When he was sure he had their attention he said hesistantly “All right, congratulation at passing the test. We will conduct the Muggle test here in one hour. If you pass as well, you will take the blood oath tonight, as agreed.”

At this, new cheers echoed over the plains.  
\----------  
They all stood in a circle around a small pillar with a single blood red candle burning at it’s top. The mood was sombre, as was befitting of the room they were standing in. The were in the Room of Oaths at the Ministry, where famous and powerful wizards of old swore to defend magic and defeat dangerous creatures. It was late at night, so that no one at the Ministry saw them entering or leaving the building.

“Slice your wand-hand and begin the oath”, the Oathkeeper told them with a powerful voice. He was an ancient wizard called Volkv Oleg. He either had no family-name or had forgotten it. He didn’t need a famous name, he was the Volkv, the Elder Wizard, and his voice was heard.

It was decided that Marina would be the first. She sliced the palm of her wand-hand with the ceremonial knife, let the blood drip to the floor and said in a loud and clear voice “I, Marina Mikhaylovna Raskowa, born 28th of March 1919 to Mikhail Dimitryevich Raskov, swear upon my magic not to reveal the secrets of the Night Witches. I will not tell anyone, be they Muggle or wizard, of their existence, unless ordered to. I will not expose them willingly by deeds or words, written or spoken. Should I fail my oath, may my magic be ripped from me, so that I may be cast out of the community I betrayed and die the traitor’s death. This I swear and so it shall be, until I’m relieved of my oath or death takes me.”

At her words a piece of the flame from the candle flew to her hand and enveloped it in fire. It didn’t burn her flesh, but she felt a deep connection to magic as a whole, and even felt peaceful for a moment. But after some seconds the flames died down, the feeling of peace vanished and the cut on her hand was healed.

“Magic has accepted your oath, my child.” The voice of the Volkv echoed through the chamber. “The next may swear.”

All of them took their oaths. It happened in secrecy, but they still felt a connection to each other. There was no turning back now.  
\----------  
Eleven black figures stood in a single row and shivered in the morning cold. They cast long shadows on the fresh snow, as black as their coats against the pure white. It was late January and the Night Witches shifted their training area to the Ural Mountains. In the lone valleys they practiced formation flying and casting while flying as well as aiming in wooded terrain. Their commander chose the mountains for one single reason: If they could fly in Winter in the Ural, they could endure Winter everywhere. They made a makeshift camp in the mountains with a magically extended shed for them to life in and another to store the brooms and other equipment.

The past months had been full of activity. They passed all their inspections and now had six Ministry approved brooms plus two spares, should anything happen. Valentina had come up with a way for them to communicate. Drawing inspiration from the Muggles, she charmed two small tin cans, one to absorb the words the user spoke into it, which she called the ‘receiver’, the other to emit them, the ‘emitter’. She then magically shrunk them and transfigured the emitter-can to a small disk that fit perfectly into an ear. The receiver was shrunk and glued to a thin steel rod, which in turn was fastened to their pilot cap. It had a range of about 10km, since the magic linking the pieces together faded with distance. But the voice sounded like the person stood right next to you, and thanks to their ‘magic radio’, or MR as they dubbed it, their performance increased drastically. Pilot and caster could exchange information about where to strike, and Yevdokia could control their formation. All you had to do was to say the name of the person you wanted to talk to, or 'all' if you wanted to adress everyone, and speak.

By early January they were all able to fly their brooms and hit some of their targets, but there was still a lot of room for improvement. Since they also needed to test their new clothes as well, they shifted to the Urals, where they now stood, freezing despite their warming charms.

Yevdokia exited the shed and looked at them. “Attention!” she shouted. The women stood straight and looked at her. It was decided that, since they were to act as a Muggle military unit, they should also learn to behave as one. And since wizards never had the need to work out a proper military etiquette, they adopted the Muggle one for their use away from the field as well. If they could only act in a certain way, they wouldn’t give themselves away. In the shed, that no Muggle could enter or even approach, not that anyone was around, they still treated each other as equals, but outside protocol had to be observed.

“Good morning, Night Witches!”, Yevdokia, their commander, shouted. “Good Morning, Commander Bershanskaya!” came the answer. 

“Today we’re getting another visit from Mr. Uvarov, who wants to check our progress. We will show him our new MR as well as a bombardment while flying in formation. I expect you to hit at least 33% of your targets. If we keep up our rate of learning we will be ready by summer, and not too soon.”

The women looked worried. The magical community had been forced to leave Magical Moscow in fear of the invasion. The Muggels managed to defend the city in the end, but at terrible cost. At least the magical community, located in the ancient centre of the city, was not harmed and able to return by January. But now even some of the Nobility were worried, or at least suspected to worry, not that they would show it publicly. All of the relatives of the Night Witches had managed to escape death until now, but Marinas father lost an eye and three fingers to a blast of shrapnel and was out of the war, at least for now. Nearly all of their relatives and Muggle-friends had to leave their homes in fear of the invader and every Night Witch worried about them.

But they were even more determined now to train and doing something to defend their relatives and friends.

“We will do one final test flight! Night Witches, mount up!”, the commander shouted, her face determined. They hurried to their brooms and seats and took their positions. Mr. Uvarov wanted a show, he would get one...  
\----------  
Marina was tense. She has been pacing up and down in their shed for at least one hour now. The rest of the witches already retired to their sleeping rooms; it had been a long day. Yesterday they finally got the ‘All clear’ from the ministry and one day later they were at the front and their ‘base’ was finished. They trained for over half a year and finally they were ready. She should be happy. 

She didn’t exactly know where they were, just that it was in the Donbass flats. The shed, transfigured to look like a standard military sleeping-tent for 15 persons, stood a short walk from the runway the Muggles made for them. They also had put up hangar-tents measuring 10x5m, four to each side of the runway at the end where the shed was also located. The tens had sideflaps and, like the shed, were charmed so that no Muggle could enter them. Normally their planes would be stored in them, but for security reasons the brooms were in the cellar of the shed. The tents were purely cosmetical, but they had to avoid suspicions, should someone see them. The entire runway and a 200m radius around it was charmed to repel Muggles, but they couldn’t be too careful.

Earlier that day, in the evening, Mr. Uvarov had found her and told her they would meet the Muggle-commander tonight to introduce themselves. She was to be present in her flying gear, he would disguise himself as a Muggle officer and they would enter the camp unter a mild _notice-me-not_ charm and talk to him.

The sound of the door opening startled her out of her thoughts. It was Mr. Uvarov, and he looked like someone from a 100 year old Muggle painting. Marina was too stunned to comment on his outfit. “Good evening, Ms. Raskowa.” He said with a nod, closing the door behind him. He looked like he wasn’t feeling too well, his face showed discomfort and he fidgeted with his hands.

“Good night to you, Mr. Uvarov, considering it’s past midnight.” She replied curtly. “I’m sorry for the delay, we have to wait until he is alone and tonight he was working late.” he replied without his usual slight disdain.

“Something the matter?” she asked him, arching an eyebrow.

“I... As much as it pains me, I have to... tell you something.” He said but didn’t continue. “Yes?” she prompted him.

“These past months, observing you train, looking at the lengths you all went through... And now that you are about to really fight in this damn Muggle war... And considering all the hurdles put in your way... I have to say... I’m impressed” he said haltingly, “And now that we are about to meet the Muggle-commander and considering that I, as an Official of the Ministry, am your superior, to use your words... I have to say that I was wrong.” He looked her in the eyes and saw them widen in surprise. “I have to also admit that I didn’t think much of your endeavour when I first heard of it. I even thought of this new Special Attaché position as someone in the Ministry getting rid of me. But this... thing you and Ms. Bershanskaya have built... it has potential. And considering that we are now in this war together... So... I would like to start again.” He extended his hand towards her. “My name is Sergey Vladislav Uvarov, from the Noble House of Uvarov of Veliki Novgorod, Special Attaché for the Muggle War. But, if you like, you can just call me Sergey.”

She looked at his hand in shock. He had treated watching over them like a chore until now, that was true. And it obviously had been hard for him to admit that he was wrong and now thought they had a chance to make a difference. But should she trust him? After all he was a Noble. Then again his house wasn’t that powerful or influential. He didn’t seem to be a bad guy, just prejudiced, which wasn’t surprising considering his ancestry. Marina was unsure what to think of his little speech...

He held his hand out for five uncomfortably awkward seconds and was just about to lower it as Marina raised her own and grasped it.

“A pleasure to meet you, Sergey. My name is Marina Mikhaylovna Raskowa, the founder and second-in-command of the Night Witches.” She winked at him, “But you can call me Marina, if you like.”

They shook hands and Sergey sighed in relief. He even had a small smile on his lips.

“I’m really touched by your words, but I hope you plan on telling the rest of us how you feel. It would mean a lot to them, hearing a Ministry Official say nice words about us.” She told him. His smile faltered and he sighed again. “Yes... yes, you are right. But that is a task for tomorrow. Now we have to meet General-Lieutenant Rodion Malinovsky, commander of the Southern Front. I will tell you my plan while we walk. Are you ready?” He asked. She nodded, “Yes, I’m ready.” – “Very well then, after you.” He opened the door for her. She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew that now she had someone at her side who didn’t want to see her fail, and that was enough for the moment. She thought about the General-Lieutenants face as he saw Sergey and couldn’t suppress a small smile as she walked into the night.  
\----------

  
End Note: Part 2 written and uploaded, yay! This is a fluff-heavy one but I think it’s necessary for me to establish some facts about the universe and describe their training and brooms. At the end of this note you will find a list of the members of the Night Witches. Also I made a mistake in the last chapter, Marina Raskowa was born in 1919 in my fic, so she would have gotten her shool-letter in 1930 at age eleven; my bad, it has been corrected, first fic and all that. Also I realized too late that her last name is because she married Sergey Raskow IRL, but in my fic she is single, so now her family-name is Raskowa instead of Malinin(a). Deal with it. For now I’ll say I’m still happy how this fic is turning out, we’re nearing the big 10k words, I’m learning a lot about creative writing, the importance of thinking before writing and the next chapter will feature the first combat mission. Also I got one Kudo, YAY!!!

Members of the Night Witches.

  
‘Officers’  
Yevdokia Bershanskaya (Commander)  
Marina Raskowa (Second-in-command and Muggle Relations)  
Serafima Amosova (Third-in-command and logistics)  
Sofiya Ozerkova (Broom maintenance)  
Valentina Stupina (Communications)

‘Soldiers’  
Olga Sanfirova  
Aleksandra Akimova  
Khiuaz Dospanova  
Polina Gelman  
Natalya Meklin  
Tatyana Makarova  
Vera Belik


	3. Russian Night-time – Flight perfected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yevdokia meets the Generals; First Mission; War is Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: Now the story has caught up to the first chapter and we join the Night Witches on their first mission.
> 
> A.N.2: Don’t worry, future chapters won’t be so description-happy about every little thing that happens, but the whole situation is new to Yevdokia and I wanted to at least show once how such a meeting could have been. Also there is a bit of gore in this chapter, spells emulating bombs will have similar effects, but it isn't described in detail.

Chapter 3: Russian Night-time – Flight perfected

  
The plan was simple. She was a Lieutenant Colonel of the Air Force, commander of the 588th Night Bomber Regiment. She would receive her orders from the General of the Airforce under General Lieutenant Malinovsky. It was decided that, while Marina had the idea to found the Night Witches and had first explained the plan to the Muggle-commander, Yevdokia as their commander in the field, would attend the Muggle’s strategy meetings. Mr. Malinovsky had signed a blood contract, so it didn’t matter how many witches he saw, and the other Muggles would be fooled by the papers provided to her. According to their ‘military’ guidelines she should have met Malinovsky yesterday night, but the Witches agreed that Marina should have that honour. She’d meet enough Muggles in the future.

Everything was taken care of, their ‘base’ was warded, the Muggles under the highest order not to approach the area, and secrecy was guaranteed. They had trained for over half a year, the ‘pilots’ could fly like a Muggle plane and the casters hit their targets. Everything was ready. This morning Sergey Uvarov had even spoken to them, admitting that he was wrong in assuming that it would fail. He was willing to start anew, but Yevdokia was still suspicious. He was of the Nobility after all, and a Ministry Official. Time would tell, she guessed. At least the majority of the Witches seemed to accept his offer and, more importantly, everyone was happy to hear that he was willing to actively help them. He also had a proper Muggle uniform now, not the fantasy one Marina told her about.

So everything went well but she still was nervous, pacing up and down behind some trees near the shed. She was to be present at the Muggle HQ at 8:30pm to take part in the planning of their first action. Sergey suggested waiting until 8:15pm and then apparating to an agreed secure location near the HQ and acting like she arrived by Muggle transport. He had even provided her an authentic Muggle uniform, befitting her rank and unit, as to not arise suspicions. Their flying gear was their real uniform, but that would arise suspicions in the Muggles. So even that part was taken care of, and she still couldn’t be still.

She looked at her wristwatch. Still only 8:04pm. She now understood the old saying that the waiting was the worst part. If only it would start already, when something was happening, she could concentrate on that.

Yevdokia forced herself to stand still and control her breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Center yourself. Concentrate on breathing. Calm your thoughts. Go over the plan again. Apparate to designated secure location. Enter the Muggle base. Go to HQ and await orders. Documents in the right pocket, emergency portkey in the left, wand up her right sleeve. She was ready.

She looked at her watch again. 8:13pm. Close enough. She performed one last pocket-check, concentrated on her destination and apparated away.

\----------

She found herself in a wooded area inside some bushes and small trees next to a road. About 200m to her right she could see the lights and buildings of the Muggle HQ. Now being happy that she finally could do something other than waiting she exited the bushes and walked down the road. Ahead she saw a roadblock and a platoon of soldiers on guard duty. She approached them, trying to appear as this was nothing out of the ordinary for her. It’s good they can’t hear how fast my heart is beating, she thought. Or could they? No, dammit! They weren’t werewolves and those are just nervous thoughts.

As she was nearing the guard post one of the soldiers yelled at her to stop. She did and tried to look at him not too nervously.

He and three of his fellow soldiers approached her, hands on their weapons but not aiming at her. As soon they were able to make out her rank insignia in the light of the setting sun they stopped and saluted her.

“Comrade Lieutenant Colonel! May I inquire about your business here?” One of them said. “My name is Lieutenant Colonel Bershanskaya, I’m here to meet with Major General of Aviation Vershinin to discuss my orders.” – “I understand, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel, but I nevertheless have to ask you why you arrive here on foot and not by vehicle.” Yevdokia swallowed. Dammit, she thought, we could have foreseen that. Maybe if she acted superior like one of the Noble wizards she could intimidate him. It certainly worked at Durmstrang, at least with the young Muggle-borns. “I don’t have to explain my decisions to you. If you must know, I wanted to take a quick stroll in this evening light.” she said, hoping to emulate the tone of the most Noble and arrogant wizards she met.

The soldier looked unhappy. “I understand that, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel. But I’m required to ask. If you could please show me your papers?” He held out his hand. For this she was prepared. Yevdokia quickly pulled her prepared papers out of her right pocket and handed them over. The soldier took some minutes reading them carefully, even holding some of them up into the evening sun as if to check the paper. He handed them back to her with a nod and said, “Your papers are in order, please excuse the delay, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel Bershanskaya. Do you need a description of how to get to HQ or do you want one of my soldiers to accompany you?” he asked. Yevdokia thought for a moment. A description would be ideal, if she was in company she could give herself away. But the base seemed very chaotic in its layout and she certainly couldn’t afford to get lost there. “I would appreciate if one of your men could accompany me.” she told him. The soldier nodded and turned to one of his men. “Private Koshkin, accompany the Lieutenant Colonel to HQ.” – “Yes, Comrade Junior Lieutenant!” the Private said while saluting. He turned to Yevdokia, “Please follow me, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel.” He saluted again, turned around and started walking slowly, as if to wait for her to catch up. Yevdokia wanted to follow but remembered to salute the soldiers at the last moment. They answered her salute and she started walking. Her face was impassive but inside she was laughing. It had worked, she had fooled the Muggle guards. The Ministry got her the right papers, and with the right attitude towards soldiers lower than her she could get past them. She even admitted quietly to herself that it was fun to act like a pureblood Noble. Not that she would ever say it out loud.

The walk to HQ was quick and thankfully quiet. She had problems remembering all the ranks of the Muggle army, so she just learned how to distinguish the ranks equal and above her for her first time. Why did they need so many ranks and insignia? And how could everyone forget to tell her that she needed to learn the ranks? Granted, they could have thought of that themselves, but still! The Ministry wanted to control everything, so they could have said something. At least after learning though a big part of the last night she knew who was higher than her. Tomorrow she would do the rest, and her fellow Night Witches would do the same, she decided. It paid to be prepared.

She marvelled at the place she was in. The was so much activity, so many machines, tents and people. Everyone they met saluted her and she was busy returning their salutes. But the atmosphere of the place didn’t seem like a happy one to her. People had bags under their eyes, dirty uniforms and some had a haunted look in their eyes. Some had dirty bandages on various parts of their bodies. In the distance she saw tents with a red cross painted on them and could hear faint screams coming from them. She had a basic understanding of Muggle medicine, having spent her first eleven years growing up among them, and she felt sorry for those poor men. She would help them if she could, but she was sworn to secrecy.

They approached a tent complex surrounded by barbed wire and guards. That would be the HQ she thought. Her guide, Private Koshkin, stopped in front of the guard, saluted and said, “Lieutenant Colonel Bershanskaya here to see Major General of Aviation Vershinin. Papers are in order.” The guards looked at her and saluted. “If I may ask for your papers again, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel?” one of them said and held out his hand. By Koshei, they love their paperwork even more than our Ministry does, Yevdokia thought as the handed them over. The guard looked at them for almost as long as the first one had before handing them back. “Welcome at Southern Front HQ, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel. You are expected. Please enter the tent in front of you and then turn left.” The guards saluted again. She put her papers away, returned the salute and walked towards the tent. Their first orders awaited them.

\----------

The atmosphere in the common room of the shed was like the air before a big thunderstorm. Twelve people filled the room. Eleven witches sat in chairs or walked nervously around, some keeping themselves busy playing a card game, but their hearts were not in it. One lone wizard sat a bit apart from them at a desk, looking at paperwork with unmoving eyes. Some looked calmer than others, but they all were feeling restless. They all waited for the commander to return with their orders, hoping that their commander was ok, wondering whether the waiting would get easier in the future.

\----------

When Yevdokia entered the planning room six eyes turned to her. She stood still, saluted and looked at the men in the room. Two were standing around a bis table with a pile of maps on top of it. The one to her left must be the Muggle-commander Mr.- no, General Lieutenant Malinovsky. She recognized him from Marinas description of their encounter. The other one wore the uniform of the Airforce and must be Major General of Aviation Vershinin she thought. Apart from them a man in a simple uniform was sitting at a small desk, furiously typing on a machine and just briefly looking at her before continuing.

They stood in silence for a few seconds before Yevdokia remembered she was expected to introduce herself. She hoped they didn’t see her slight cringe when she remembered. “Lieutenant Colonel Bershanskaya, 588th Night Bomber Regiment, reporting for assignment.” she said.

General Lieutenant Malinovsky merely nodded and looked back at the map. Major General of Aviation Vershinin looked at her with more interest and said tiredly, “Ah yes. The secret regiment of women pilots attached to my army by the highest order. A pleasure to finally meet you.” She doubted he was pleased at the whole situation. “I don’t understand why you are being kept a secret, considering the old crop dusters you fly around in, but who am I to question orders. My men have all been instructed not to ask questions about your unit, tactics or equipment, as have Comrade Malinovsky’s, don’t worry. Now please step closer and look at this map here.”

Yevdokia walked to the table, happy that again she wasn’t questioned too much. The Muggles seemed willing to accept the lies fabricated by the Ministry and she would keep it that way. The map showed a portion of the Mius river. There were a lot of lines and arrows painted on both sides of the river and symbols she didn’t recognize. Maybe units of soldiers?

Vershinin wasted no time in getting started, accompanying his orders with his finger tracing lines on the map. “We are being pushed back and orders are to counterattack, so you arrived at a good time. The Germans have dug in along the Mius and we have to penetrate their line to have any chance of success. This here is the village of Demidovka and the river can be crossed in this area here, east of it. The position is fortified with MG-nests and trenches, maybe even a makeshift bridge by now. Expect some light AA guns, maybe one or two searchlights. Our attack starts at 06:00am and you are to bomb the crossing at approximately 04:00am this night. I was told you were ready?” He looked at her and she merely nodded. They were flying tonight! “Fly to Matveyev Kurgan coming from the east and then turn exactly north-west and you should hit the crossing dead-on. Throw down as many bombs as you can, don’t let them get a full night’s sleep. They likely won’t have any lights on, so just aim for the river bend here and you’ll hit something. After you’re done turn immediately to the east, there is a lot more AA north of Demidovka. Intelligence reports no enemy fighters operating at night in this area, so that should be fine. If you can, get me a report of any enemy positions or large number of lights you see. Questions?” He looked at her again.

Yevdokia swallowed. She was still reeling with the news that the Night Witches would fly their first attack tonight. It looked simple enough on a map and sounded so easy, but could they pull it off? The map! They didn’t have a map of the area, at least not a military one. Could she risk asking for one? “Well?” Vershinin asked again. She decided just to risk it, maybe it was even expected of her to ask for one?

“Well... If possible I would like a map of the area in general and our operation area specially. I don’t-“ – “Recon didn’t provide you with maps? Typical, the General Staff has to take care of everything!” He interrupted. Malinovsky, too, looked at her; a questioning look in his eyes. Was he aware of their blunder to obtain maps? “She can have one of mine, we somehow have too many.” He suggested. Vershinin looked first at him, then at her. “If you agree, Lieutenant Colonel?” She nodded again. “Good. Report to my staff immediately after you are back from your sortie. Standard oral report now, written report before noon. You are dismissed.” Malinovsky turned to her, “Ask for Filippov on your way out, he’ll hand you the maps.”

She saluted them both and turned to leave. As she was walking away she heard Vershinin say to her back, “And welcome to the war and to my command.” She stopped, turned around and nodded at him.

As she was leaving the base equipped with her maps she was glad she had something to hold in her hands. They were shaking more than slightly. It was such a rush! She got her orders, and in less than six hours they would mount their brooms and fly to their first mission. But she also wondered if they would all come back...

\----------

The common room exploded in activity when she entered. Marina and Sofiya, sitting closest to the door, jumped up and ran towards her, the others not far behind; even Sergey approached her. They showered her with questions, and she had to yell to get them all to quieten down. She walked towards the big table and put her maps down. Thankfully the meeting was still fresh in her memory. Technically only she and Marina needed to know the plan, but they were all equals in the unit and thus the Night Witches deserved to know their exact orders. She inhaled deeply to calm herself and started explaining the mission.

\----------

“Night Witches, mount up!” Eleven women walked to their brooms. Yevdokia was standing next to hers. All were dressed as black as the night around them, only a few small clouds were in the sky. During the end of training they had finally worked out who would fly with whom. Yevdokia Bershanskaya with Natalya Meklin on broom 1, Marina Raskowa with Olga Sanfirova on broom 2, Serafima Amosova with Khiuaz Dospanova on broom 3, Sofiya Ozerkova with Polina Gelman on broom 4, Valentina Stupina with Aleksandra Akimova on broom 5 and Tatyana Makarova with Vera Belik on broom 6. They didn’t name their brooms to keep it simple, also the numbers reflected the position in their battle hierarchy.

“All ready?” she shouted. The pilot of every broom yelled their ‘yes’ back.

“Night Witches, make ready! Fly!” They pushed away from the ground and flew forward about half a metre above the ground. They picked up speed and at the end of their runway they started their ascent. Flying the broom like a Muggle plane was bothersome and counterintuitive, but they never knew who was watching. Once in the air they formed a V-formation and followed their leader to the target.

“Test, Test! Broom 1 calling all! Test MR!” Yevdokia shouted into her receiver. Magic could only do so much and they quickly found out the level of voice needed to be understood over the wind. All brooms reported back. “We are flying towards Matveyev Kurgan! Heading west! It will take approximately 40 minutes! Keep in formation and keep silent!” She ordered them. Personally she wanted nothing but to talk about what was happening. It just was so exciting! 

They were flying at about 300m, but when they neared their destination they would have to fly at about 100m, as the _bombarda_ spell only had a certain effective range. Their travelling speed was at around 150km/h, but during their attack run they would lower it to around 100km/h. She marvelled again at her charmed goggles. They were worth a mountain of gold, everything seemed lit like at a cloudy dusk but all in grey and she could discern trees and small structures on the ground. When they were flying over their own lines she could recognize men on the ground, walking on patrol. It was amazing! She hoped everyone was ready.

\----------

“That is Matveyev Kurgan ahead of us! Be ready to turn! Our target is about 5km away once we’ve turned! Begin descent!” She informed the Witches. They all acknowledged. It was less than 5 minutes now. Over the village they turned north-west, having reached 100m altitude. She could see the river Mius, or at least the trees flanking the banks. Ahead she saw the river bend with the crossing held by the Germans. “That bend is our target! We make two runs! One to cast and one to observe the damage! I want at least three spells per caster in our run!” The Witches confirmed her orders.

She saw dark spots in the field, those must be the MG-nests. “Natalya, aim for those dark spots on our left!” she instructed her caster. “Ok!” came the response.

It was only about one kilometre now. “Cast as you see fit on my command, Night Witches! Wait... Wait... NOW!”

She didn’t hear the incantations, but she heard the explosions. The ground below her erupted in balls of fire and earth. What noise six simultaneous _bombardas_ made, she thought. The second and third round of casting blended together and then they were clear of their target. Their first attack run was over in under ten seconds.

After maybe half a minute of shock her receiver vibrated in her ear with the sound of women cheering. She knew she should call for silence, after all who knew how far they could be heard, but she joined them. They had done it! They flew silently to their target and hit it! She couldn’t believe it!

“All right! Quiet! QUIET!” she finally shouted. “I’m as happy as you are but we have to stay silent!” The cheers calmed down. “Be ready to turn around and observe the damage! We turn right! Turn now!”

The formation turned 180° and flew back the way they came. Ahead of them they saw fires on the ground where some of the spells hit. A siren was blaring and men were running around, but they couldn’t yet make out details. A searchlight was turned on and scanned the sky and she changed the course to avoid it as best as she could. She saw the tracer rounds of an MG, but it was firing in the completely wrong direction.

When she was directly over the German position she looked down and would remember the scene for the rest of her life. The black spot she told Natalya to aim for was a crater, smoking pieces of wood and camouflage netting strewn around it. Next to it was another crater with three figures lying around it. She was low enough to see they were missing limbs. One screamed and clutched the stump of a leg, the other two lay still, pools of blood beneath them. Soldiers were running around, some looking for cover, some dragging wounded men to the trenches. She could see the dark lines of blood on the ground. She saw an overturned and burning truck. Some of the dry bushes had caught fire too, and it was spreading. Men were looking to the sky, watching for any sign of another run. She heard faint yells that could be orders. All in the twilight of her goggles and the light of the fires. She thought that some of the soldiers must surely see them, low as they were. Would they open fire?

Then they were past the position and back over safe land again. She was stunned. She knew war was awful and people died, but to experience it first-hand, to be directly responsible for it... She felt nauseous. There were no cheers after this run.

“We... We hit the target, Commander!” she heard Marina say. “Yes... we did! We fly back to base, ascend to 300m!” she ordered mechanically. Her hands might have been on the broom and her eyes were looking ahead into the early stages of a beautiful sunrise. But her mind was with those three figures next to the smoking crater.

\----------

They landed safely at their base. Sergey stood near the shed, waiting for them. Marina felt sick. She heard Yevdokia tell her that she had to report to the Muggles and that Marina should tell Sergey everything that happened. At least she thought she heard that, there was a ringing in her ears she couldn’t explain. Yevdokia walked towards some trees and disappeared behind them, the faint ‘pop’ of someone disapperating could be heard. The Night Witches stood in a disorderly heap. Some sat next to their brooms, heads in their hands, others looked nervously at each other. She saw Polina run away from them and heard her throwing up under a tree. Her own caster, Olga, looked at her and chuckled nervously. “Well... we did it, didn’t we? Our first mission...” she trailed off. Marina wanted to take off her pilot cap, wipe the sweat from her brow, but when she saw her shaking hands she put them in her coat pockets instead. “Yes, Olga... We did it. We started fighting.” She saw Sergey walking towards her. “But... it’s... it’s...” she struggled to say.

“Well, how did the mission go?” asked Sergey, his voice showing the slightest hint of concern. “Was it a success? You are all unhurt, right?” – “We... We hit the target. Everybody got three _bombardas_ in I think... We made another run to assess the damage... Then we flew back, no one was hurt.” She heard herself say. Her voice broke at the last words. She turned to Olga, hugged her and sobbed against her chest. Olga was gently stroking her back but had tears in her eyes too. And they weren’t the only ones. The beginning dawn making their tears glitter on their cheeks. Sergey stood silently next to them, unsure how to act, nervously looking around.

She got herself together after a few minutes and turned to him again. “Are you alright?” he asked her before she could say anything, the concern now showing clearly in his face and voice. “Yes... yes, I’m alright. But on the second run, when we assessed the damage... The dead soldiers... By Koshei, they were missing fucking arms and legs! They screamed! We did that to them!” she said haltingly. “I know this is war and they started it and the Muggles fighting on the ground aren’t better off than we are, but...” She looked him in the eyes. “We did it! We did our first mission and succeeded. Objective complete. We should be happy, but...” She looked around her, looked at her Night Witches. They all looked miserable, like they lost the war, not won a battle.

“Believe me, nothing except a battle lost can be half so melancholic as a battle won.” She said, looking into the distance. “Is that a quote?” Sergey asked after some seconds of silence. “Yes, I don’t remember who said it though... But I think I understand...” She walked away from him to comfort the other Night Witches.

Sergey felt like an outsider. It was their moment; they had absolved their first mission and he would give them their time to process it. But he wondered if such behaviour was normal. Time would tell, he guessed. He just hoped that this wasn’t the end of the Night Witches. Not that they could get out now without making the whole Ministry their enemy. He turned and walked to the shed. He would give them their privacy. But deep inside him he was happy they all survived the first mission. Maybe this would turn into a success after all...

\----------

Yevdokia felt numb as she walked towards the HQ. After apparating she broke down in the undergrowth, silently crying. She didn’t exactly know how long she sat under those trees, but eventually she had gotten up and started walking along the road to HQ. The guards at the roadblock either didn’t see her red eyes and wet cheeks or chose not to comment. She hoped it wasn’t too obvious, maybe she could blame the lack of sleep caused by a nightly mission. She was in no condition to cast a sufficient _glamour_ spell right now.

The guard at the HQ-tent just looked at her papers for a few seconds before allowing her entry. She now stood in the entrance area and looked around. Who was she to give her report to again?

“Lieutenant Colonel Bershanskaya?” She heard a man say to her right. She turned around and saw a man in a simple uniform, not unlike the one silently writing reports during her meeting. That had been not 12 hours ago, but it felt like it was last week. She turned to him and nodded, he saluted her.

“Yes, I was told to give my report to Major General of Aviation Vershinin’s staff.” – “That would be me. Captain Fyodor Ivanovich Volkov. A pleasure to meet you.” he said warmly, nodding. She returned the gesture. “Likewise, Captain.” she answered. “Would you care for some tea? We made a fresh kettle.” – “No; but thank you. I just want to give my report and then I have to get back to our base.” she told him. “Very well, just let me get something to write on... Alright, please start.” he said as he sat down at desk with a pen and some sheets of paper.

“We took off at about 3:10am and headed west to Matveyev Kurgan once we reached travelling altitude. The sky was clear. We reached the village about 40 minutes later and turned north-west towards our target. We saw the river crossing and started our attack run. We hit them as best as we could. After the run we turned around and flew over them again to assess the damage. At least one MG-nest and one truck was destroyed, multiple soldiers were killed. The burning truck started a fire that could spread. We flew back, no one was hurt.”

She stopped talking and waited for him to finish his notes. Captain Volkov looked them over when he was done, then turned towards her and said, “All right. Thank you for your report. You are to come here again at 11:00am for your official debriefing and new orders. Please remember to bring your written report. If you'll excuse me, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel.” He stood up, saluted her and then left for the deeps of the tent-complex.

Yevdokia stood there for several moments. That’s it, she thought, over half a year of training, numerous hurdles along the way, almost two hours flight, men on the ground dismembered and killed and a report given in under one minute, treated like nothing out of the ordinary. That’s war, she added bitterly to her thoughts as she turned around to go back to their base. Maybe Marina or Serafima could write the report for her. She just wanted to lie down for a bit...

\----------

End Note: And there we are! The first mission is completed and the Night Witches, who treated the whole thing as a bit of an adventure, considering their power compared to the Muggles, have seen what they will do until they are killed or the war is over.

Next chapter will be dealing with the aftermath of their first mission. They will also quickly realize that you won’t get time off to analyze your feelings when the whole army is caught up in a desperate defense. Thanks for reading, hope you like my story so far! I certainly enjoy thinking and then writing it. Also this is my longst chapter yet, whoohoo!

End Note 2: Alomost forgot this handy list of the broom crews, sorry

Brooms (pilot + caster)  
1 – Yevdokia Bershanskaya + Natalya Meklin  
2 – Marina Raskowa + Olga Sanfirova  
3 – Serafima Amosova + Khiuaz Dospanova  
4 – Sofiya Ozerkova + Polina Gelman  
5 – Valentina Stupina + Aleksandra Akimova  
6 – Tatyana Makarova + Vera Belik


	4. Flawless vision – But detected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July and August; Sergey disappears; A new addition; A brush with death; Sergey returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: Next chapter, whoohoo! This story has a kudo more, my first bookmark, almost 50 hits and, If I dare call them that, my first fan: demon_in_a_shoeboxx! You go, demon! Writing this was a bitch, but after a lot of thinking I have mapped out how the story will (likely) play out. Now I just have to fill in the blanks between this chapter and the end. Easy, right?

Chapter 4 Flawless vision – But detected

It was a beautiful late afternoon. Three young women were lying in the shade of some birch trees on the bank of a small creek. One was asleep, one was sitting and writing in a journal and the third one looked at the sky, her right hand outstretched as if to grasp the few clouds. The creek made a gentle noise, some birds were singing in the trees around them. It was warm but not hot. All in all, it was a truly peaceful moment, Polina decided. They wore their boots and trousers but had left the coats in the shed and taken off their dark shirts. Using them as cushions, they lay there in their light undershirts, comfortably warm. She could feel her eyelids getting heavy. Her hand sank back to the grass. Maybe she could have a quick nap too, the creek was singing a soft lullaby...

The booming of heavy artillery broke the silence. As one, all three women shot up, looking around nervously, hands straying to their wands. The battery was less than a kilometer away, judging by the volume. Polina calmed down first, they were aimed at the Germans. “It’s ok, guys!” She turned to the other women. “Those must be ours. We shouldn’t be in danger.” – “Mmmm...” Sofiya hummed, before lying back down again. “I finally fell asleep, and now this...” she complained, “How are you holding up, Polina? You fell asleep too?” she asked. “No, I just decided I could risk falling asleep when it started.” – “Because of your dream?” – “Yes...” came the tired response. “I suppose that’s to be expected, artillery and such. We’re in a war after all...” Natalya added, settling back down and picking up her journal.

Looking in the faces of the other Witches today at breakfast, or rather lunch, Polina saw that nobody had had a good sleep. She dreamed of shadowy figures, reaching out from below, accusing her, dragging her down... Then after they had eaten Yevdokia came back from HQ, looking as tired as they all felt. Apparently, the generals were pleased about their mission, though the counteroffensive that day was a failure. It was decided that they would fly three missions tonight along the Mius-Line. The Southern front was slowly falling back to the Don river, their targets this night would be important roads. If they destroyed important crossroads, German supplies would be slower to come to the front, hindering their advance. Yevdokia had freed them from duty for the afternoon, they should rest and be ready for the night. She would be at HQ again in the evening, receiving detailed orders based on the newest reports. Thus, Polina, Natalya and Sofiya had wandered away from their base and found this spot at a nameless creek.

They settled back down again in silence. After some minutes Sofiya sat up, apparently having decided she couldn’t sleep with that noise. “What are you writing there by the way?” she asked Natalya. “Oh... I just want to write stuff down, you know? Maybe if I write down what happened I can deal with it better... I remember reading somewhere that keeping a diary in difficult situations could help... Also I like sketching scenes, it calms me...” She answered thoughtfully. “Huh...” came the response, “I guess you should finish though. The sun is sinking.” Sofiya stood up and looked at Polina. “Come on, my dear caster. Up and at them!” she said with a small smile, offering her hand.

Polina didn’t feel like smiling though. She felt tired and the rhythm of the artillery made her slightly nervous. It reminded her of last night, the explosions she caused... She ripped her thoughts away from that subject. She couldn’t get out now, and she would fall asleep sooner or later. She took the hand and stood up. Night was coming. Their time to fight was coming...  
\----------  
“No, I absolutely refuse!” Sergey said angrily, “I won’t even think about operating this... Muggle contraption!” Yevdokia and Marina looked at each other tiredly.

When she was at HQ Yevdokia was asked if their field telephone was ready yet, and having no clue what to answer responded that their unit was damaged. That was a mistake, since Major General of Aviation Konstantin Vershinin looked at her angrily and then ordered his staff to fetch her a unit and some spools of wire. She was driven, on his orders, to the vicinity of their base and ordered to immediately set up a connection. If it was operational they were to be on stand-by from one hour after sunset to one hour before sunrise, which amounted to 21:20pm to 3:20am this week. She began to dread the winter with its longer nights.

Now she had to set up the field telephone before sunset. Thankfully they had given her a manual, apparently it was a newer model. They told her that her engineer would know what to do and left her to lay the rest of the wire to their secret base. Since they all would be flying and she didn’t want to involve Muggles only Sergey could fill the role as radioman. He was a smart man, she thought, he would figure it out. How wrong she was...

“Sergey, please understand our situation. Every flying regiment has a direct connection to HQ, they need to be able to act quickly. If I hadn’t accepted the field telephone, they would be extremely suspicious. And I didn’t want to bring Muggles into this. I thought you of all people would understand.” Marina began. “Oh, I understand all right.” Sergey answered angrily, “I even commend your quick thinking, Yevdokia. Not having such a device was a mistake on my end, I can admit that. What I don’t understand is why I have to be radioman! I’m the supervisor here, I report to the Ministry! I’m not here to play Muggle!” – “We have two options, Mr. Ministry,” Yevdokia interjected. She was getting angry now, why was he behaving so childish? “We are twelve Witches for six brooms. If one of us operated the field telephone we would be short a caster or pilot. You would have to fill in, but this is a female unit. So unless you want me to force a polyjuice-potion down your throat, I suggest you learn how to operate it. Otherwise I’ll happily go to HQ and request a specialist. Those are your two options!”

Sergey’s hands involuntarily went to his body. “You wouldn’t dare forcing me to drink that vile potion!” He said with a shocked look. “Well, then I’m off again to HQ. Excuse me, Mr. Sergey Too-good-to-operate-a-Muggle-device Uvarov!” Yevdokia said before saluting mockingly and storming out of the shed to disapparate. “You can’t do that!” Sergey shouted, running after her, “I have the command here! If you bring a Muggle into this I will-“ He suddenly had a wand in his face. Yevdokia had turned around, quick as lightning, and looked at him furiously. “I won’t have you ruin this! Have you read the reports I received from the Muggles?” She shouted in his face, “Have you read what the Germans are doing to the Muggles?! The reports of the executions! Killing whole villages! What they are doing to Polinas people?! We won’t stand by and do nothing!”

Sergey felt angry and ashamed. They were standing outside of the shed the Night Witches stood around them, watching their fight. Of course he read the reports. The military, or at least high officers, were better informed about what the invaders did to civilians than the papers. But that didn’t give her the right to point a wand in his face! “Yes I read them.” he said, trying to sound calm, “And yes, it is atrocious. But if you risk the secrecy of this whole endeavour, I’ll have no choice but to return to the Ministry and cancel this whole thing.”

A silence fell over them, feeling unnatural in the late afternoon sun. Even the distant artillery seemed to have stopped. Everyone was looking at him as if he was their worst enemy. He might as well be at this moment, he realized, too late.

“For the sake of this professional relationship I will pretend I haven’t heard that.” Yevdokia said icily, pushing the wand into his cheek. “But if you ruin this because of your fucking Noble pride you will regret it. I promise you that, Mr. Uvarov. And I further promise that we won’t quit. We swore a blood oath to keep this a secret and we will honour that oath. If you won’t help us directly by swallowing your pride and learning a new skill, at least provide a blood contract for the Muggle. Unless you want to reconsider...?” She let the question hang in the air.

Sergey swallowed. He was truly fucked now. Not only had he lost what little sympathy they had for him, me managed to make twelve witches angry at him. Twelve witches who had killed to protect their loved ones. He knew there was a time for pride and a time to swallow it, but he just couldn’t...

Yevdokia looked at him for over a minute. Then she lowered her wand, a sad look on her face. “Please, at least have the decency to provide the contract. And if you feel you are not up to the task, look for a replacement for your sorry ass. We are doing this and the least you can do is not sabotaging us. Our families are in danger. You owe us that much.” She said with a sad voice. Then she spun around and disapparated, leaving him to face the angry Witches.

Sergey sighed. He tried to look angrily at them, to show them they were wrong to try to force him into such a subservient role. But their silent stares were too intense, and his heart wasn’t really in it anyway. He turned around and walked to the shed.

When the first witch entered the shed after some minutes, she found it empty. On the big common table was a blood contract and a blood quill. The door to Sergey’s room was open and his personal things were still all there. But he had disappeared.  
\----------  
Junior Sergeant Wladimir Nikolayevich Kolosow had a bad day. He had slept on the bare ground for the second night, his cot was needed at the field hospital. His back hurt, his uniform was dirty and his Lieutenant yelled at him for being late and for looking like a mess. Not his fault there wasn’t a single razor in the army. Not his fault the line at breakfast was so long...

And now his Lieutenant had told him he was to be transferred to a new Regiment, a unit that was being kept secret and that he had five minutes to pack his things, grab his rifle, say his goodbyes and report at the front gates. He was running across headquarters and already over five minutes late; his heavy gear didn’t help. He just hoped his new commander wouldn’t yell as much as Senior Lieutenant Popov. The man could be heard in Moscow...  
\----------  
Yevdokia saw a man approaching her. He was running like a werewolf was behind him. One hand was holding his helmet in place, the other was holding a rifle, a heavy backpack weighing him down further. The guards at the roadblock joked about the ‘running rabbit’. She felt pity, not amusement.

He slid to a stop in front of her. He saluted well enough, but then immediately bent down, breathing heavily. “Ju...Junior...Sergeant...Wla...dimir...Ni...Nikolayevich...Kolosow... reporting...” he wheezed. She waited until he caught his breath somewhat and stood upright again before saluting. “I apologize, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel Berhanskaya. I’m late and have no excuse.” he said. “Not to worry, Junior Sergeant.” Yevdokia replied warmly. He eyed her suspiciously. He didn’t trust her. Had she done something wrong? Well, too late now!

“You are ready to leave?” she asked. “Yes, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel!” he replied. “Well then, let’s go!” she said and started walking.

Wladimir eyed her back suspiciously for a moment. A female Lieutenant Colonel of the Air Force requesting him as a specialist? That couldn’t end well. But, he thought, nothing I can do, might as well try to enjoy it while I can. Airstrips aren’t typically in artillery range...  
\----------  
The bad day had taken a turn for the worse. Normally he would have enjoyed being alone in a room with twelve young women. He was young, 20 years old, and thought himself attractive. Dark brown hair, 180cm tall, stubby short beard, brown eyes that were described as ‘dreamy’ by his first girlfriend... He would really have enjoyed this break from the war in this room. But the fates had other plans.

The 588th Night Bomber Regiment was supposed to be a secret, so he understood the blindfold. He even could understand the Regiment being comprised entirely of women; a mixed Regiment was an invitation for trouble. The strange feeling of being forced through a tube he didn’t want to understand. The contract in front of him he couldn’t understand. It was written on parchment and full of legalese phrases and a very obvious threat of a horrible death should he fail the contract. He didn’t need to sign anything such as this when he was drafted. If they wanted to shoot him for disobeying orders they could just do that. He could understand that kind of swift justice, it was a war after all. But to sign a complicated contract on parchment? With an actual quill?! Couldn’t they just order him to secrecy and shoot him should he fail?

“You don’t have to sign, Junior Sergeant Kolosow. If you don’t want to, I will talk to HQ and try to reassign you to a unit of your choosing.” The Lieutenant Colonel told him with a friendly voice. She was sitting at the opposite side of the table, the other women standing behind her in their strange, non-army-regulation flying gear.

Then again, even if he didn’t understand, it still was better than a frontline assignment that was surely waiting for him when HQ was transferred to the next defensive line. He grabbed the quill with determination and signed his name. The pain on the back of his hand made him want to reconsider, but it was too late now.

“Well then,” their commander said with a smile, “Welcome to the Night Witches, Junior Sergeant Kolosow.” She took out a stick, waved it and the contract and quill vanished into thin air. Wladimir swallowed. Being in artillery range sounded good right now.  
\----------  
“Is the field telephone ready?” Valentina asked the newest addition to their team. Wladimir cringed, stood up, turned around and saluted. “Yes, Comrade Lieutenant Stupina!” She was Head of Communications and he would be her subordinate. She never had one before and thought it was nice, although she also pitied him. Being told that magic existed and meeting twelve witches who were flying on brooms, raining lethal spells on the German invaders would shock the strongest of minds, she thought. When she got her Durmstrang letter it certainly shocked her. As did her treatment by the Nobles and her living conditions, but that made her stronger. Being cursed in the hallways for amusement also tended to hone one’s reflexes. Muggle-born students were generally better duellists, at least considering agility. The Nobles had the better library and thus knew more spells. It tended to cancel out.

She forced her thoughts back to the present. Was she nostalgic for her school-days? Well, she didn’t have to kill back then... No! Check the field telephone, that was her task.

“Is everything working?” she asked. “Yes, Comrade Lieutenant Stupina. I was performing a final check of the contacts before testing the connection.” Wladimir reported. “Then continue. And call me Valentina, please.” – “I’d rather not get into trouble for insubordination, Comrade Lieutenant Stupina.” he said while saluting. Then he continued working on the field telephone. They had conjured a small shed for the thing, open on one side, and a wooden chair for the operator. Valentina watched him working, fascinated by the technology. She hadn’t really followed Muggle technology since her third year at Durmstrang. They used magic to talk over distance, but the Muggles had to use wires and batteries and other things. The set even had a crank-generator to charge the batteries. It was quite ingenious, she admitted. Wladimir seemed to have finished his checks. He picked up the speaker, turned some dials and looked at her. “What is your callsign, Comrade Lieutenant?” – “Vedma-1-2” she responded, glad Yevdokia had listened to her suggestion. Witch-12 was fitting, she thought. Wladimir nodded and turned some more dials.

“Vedma-1-2 calling Command-0-1... 588th Night Bomber Regiment, Sir... Yes, connection is good on my end... callsign Vedma-1-2... Yes... Understood, Sir!” He hung up the field telephone and looked at her. “Connection is working and callsign was recognized, Comrade Lieutenant. Orders are to proceed as planned, unless new orders arrive.” – “Thank you, Wladimir. ”Valentina smiled, “I’ll go tell Yevdokia. Good job.”

She turned around and left happily. They were becoming a proper Regiment, having a field telephone and all that. She didn’t see the stunned look Wladimir gave her, hearing her address her commander by her first name.  
\----------  
They flew their planned three missions that night. The Muggle General thought they had a lot more ‘planes’ than just six, so they could fly multiple missions in one go. Up to five ‘missions’ simultaneously, if Yevdokia guessed correctly, after they returned from the night. The planned timing was off each time, but the Germans wouldn’t tell the Major General the exact time they were attacked. Three runs were tiring, but they could do more if they wanted. They would have to find out the limit someday, she thought. But flying too long was exhausting for pilot and caster alike.

The runs assessing the damage were easier this time at least. They just needed to destroy the road surface, so no one was hurt or even saw them this night. Their ‘break’ would be over soon enough, she thought darkly.

Wladimir was still amazed about magic and brooms, but that was expected. He was nice enough and would be a good addition to their team. The same couldn’t be said about Sergey, wherever he was...

They stood around their landing area after their missions. It had taken them about three hours, their targets being far apart. No one seemed to want to go to bed just now, adrenaline still being high from casting and flying. She saw their radioman walking towards her. He held a slip of paper in his hands, saluted smartly and presented it to her. She saluted back, took the note and read.

_Call from HQ at 1:27am – Sortie – Enemy captured Pokrovskoye – Coordinates CA12 AF4 – Bomb village – Target equipment and intact houses – Scorched Earth – Take-off at 3:30am_

She swallowed. Wladimir looked at her with a look that might have been understanding, had he not tried so hard to keep his face neutral. They had less than half an hour before they had to take flight again. Bombing one of their own villages. She hoped to all she held dear that the civilians had been evacuated. A sigh escaped her lips. This would destroy morale. But they had orders, and as leader she should act as an example. If she survived she swore that she would help rebuilding after the war. She turned to the Night Witches and yelled to get their attention. She saw their faces sink when they saw her holding the paper.

“Night Witches! We have orders for one more sortie this night! The enemy has captured Pokrovskoye! We are to bomb their equipment and all intact houses!” The women looked appaled, several opened their mouths to protest. Yevdokia was quicker. “Shut up! I don’t want to hear any complaints! This is a war and we have our orders! No resources for the invader! We knew what we would have to do when we started this unit! Take-off at 3:30, you are free until 3:25! Dismissed!”

She hated what she had to become. A ruthless officer, yelling at her friends. But they couldn’t disregard their orders, that would lead to questions. She just hoped the women would still see her as their friend during the day and their off-hours. She had lost her innocence already, she didn’t want to lose them too...  
\----------  
Six brooms flew over the steppes, the beginning sunrise behind them. It was still dark enough in the Russian skies, but they took off late in the night. With about 40 minutes travelling-time they would arrive maybe ten minutes before the actual sunrise. Yevdokia saw the village ahead. Some houses seemed to still be burning from the fighting this night, dark columns of smoke rising to the faint blue sky. They would add some of their own in about five minutes...

“Target ahead! Five minutes until casting! You have your orders! Equipment and houses!” She shouted into her receiver. The Witches acknowledged her orders. Koshei, please, let the civilians have fled the fighting...

Then they were above the village. “Cast as you see fit!” She yelled and below fireballs sprang into existance. She saw some trucks at the village square and shouted at Natalya to aim at those. She thought she could feel the heat of the explosions. They must have been ammunition transports.

Then they were clear of the village, now over enemy ground. She looked back but couldn’t see details through the smoke. She saw the bright shine of fires, though; wooden buildings catching fire like tinder. The sun was peeking over the horizon, blinding her.

“Good run, Night Witches! We turn around over our left, assess the damage, then back to base and we are done for the night!” Grunts were the response to her orders. But they had to check their success.

They turned around just as a siren began blaring. As they neared the village she saw men running to dugouts, loading weapons. She suddenly realized they would be very visible in the morning sky, the sun no longer blinding the Germans. “Loose formation! Loose formation! Rise to 300m! They can see us! Now!” She yelled panicked as she turned her broom upwards, forgotten was the Muggle flying style.

The Night Witches broke formation, tracer rounds ripping through the air were they just had been. Had they seen their approach? They must have, big biplanes against the bright sky? The planes then turning around lazily and taking the same route back?! She cursed her orders and her stupidity.

Fifteen seconds of panic, acceleration and altitude gain and they were clear of the AA. “Talk to me! Anybody hurt?” She shouted, concern in her voice. “All clear, nobody hurt!” came the answer from five brooms. She breathed a sigh of relief and thanked her lucky stars. She would find reasons in the future to insist on flying in total darkness even if the Major General came to despise her, she thought to herself. They fell back into formation and flew to their base.  
\----------  
Two men were expecting their return. One was wearing a military uniform, the black and blue of the Technical Corps on his collar. The other one was taller, better groomed and dressed in an expensive robe, a look of concern mixed with sadness on his face. The Night Witches landed in front of them, keeping their distance, casting suspicious looks. Sergey had returned, but why? Had he gone to the Ministry? Was their unit finished?

Marina was the first who walked towards him. “Oh, look who’s back and dressed like he came from the opera! Mr. Too-good-to-work!” She said angrily, her emotions after four flights last night and a bombed village getting the better of her. He didn’t look at all angry about her remark. He just looked at her sadly and said, “Ms. Raskowa, I have to talk to Ms. Bershanskaya. Alone, please.” – “You can say it infront of everybody, I’ll tell them anyway.” Yevdokia had found her way over to them. He didn’t look her in the eyes, rather at her boots as he talked.

“I have to apologize for my behaviour, Ms. Bershanskaya. The Muggle told me that he signed the contract and that everything is working.” – “His name is Wladimir Kolosow!” Marina spat. Sergey ignored her remark and continued. “Getting an expert for Muggle technology was the right decision. I nevertheless stand by my decision to not do your Muggle-work.” He looked her in the eyes. “I could have communicated my decision better, and for that I apologize. The Ministry is very concerned about upholding our secrecy, you have to understand.” – “Oh yeah, the holy secrecy! Didn’t help us when we got shot at an hour ago, did it?” A witch shouted, maybe Natalya?

Sergey’s eyes widened. He quickly looked them over, as if counting them. “You were discovered? What happened?” – “We had a bombing run scheduled for sunrise.” Yevdokia said icily. “We bombed Pokrovskoye to deny the Germans shelter and supplies. Don’t worry though, we weren’t hurt.” – “I didn’t mean it like-“ – “Don’t lie to me! You always go on about secrecy and your precious Ministry! You wouldn’t care if we got killed, you’d worry about how to send memory-modifiers to a warzone!” Yevdokia was truly angry now. To think that she believed him when he wanted to start anew, seemingly having been convinced of their eventual success.

“You’re right, the secrecy is becoming a problem.” Sergey said sadly, looking at her boots again. “And I won’t stand in your way again. You should be able to act as you see fit. This war... It will eventually spill over to the magical world, should the Germans win. Grindelwald allegedly has a hand in this whole affair. It won’t end well. I understand that now. But the Ministry is having second thoughts about this whole thing and I will have to leave you for some time. I think some time apart would do us good. So this is good-bye for now, Ms. Bershanskaya.” He extended his hand. Yevdokia just looked at him, no intention of shaking hands with him. First he threatens to shut them down over a childish issue like operating a radio, then he comes crawling back, all apologies and sad puppy eyes? Helping them with the Ministry? No, he was planning something.

Sergey lowered his hand after a few seconds, hurt clearly showing on his face. “I guess I deserve that. Enjoy your time without me." He took out a tin can, tapped it with his wand, looked around one last time and vanished.

The Night Witches were stunned. What was he planning now? Immediately whispered conversations broke out. Yevdokia just glared at the spot where he had disappeared, thinking about nasty curses to try out on him, should he sabotage them.

Wladimir sighed audibly. People fighting away from the battlefield, strange men appearing and disappearing, a ‘Ministry’... He didn’t understand and didn’t want to. The contract said not to disclose secrets, but he didn’t even want to know any in the first place...  
\----------  
The following month was hard on the Night Witches. The front neared and they were transferred to a makeshift Airstrip behind the Don-Line. Rostov fell for the second time on the 24th of July. Their new position was 60km behind the current frontline near Sernograd. Transferring the shed was no problem, warding the area and setting up the field telephone only took the rest of the day.

The Night Witches enjoyed their ‘day off’. They had flown two to four times each night for a month, bombing river crossing, railroads, enemy positions and depots. Thankfully they weren’t fired upon again, always returning an hour before sunrise.

All but Yevdokia enjoyed their day off. The stress of command was getting to her. After the bombing of Pokrovskoye the women had almost mutinied but thankfully Sergey chose that night to disappear, so he got most of their anger. Nevertheless, she talked less and less to her friends. Natalya, her caster, only talked to her during their flights and the other witches avoided her during the days. Only Marina still regularly talked to her, mostly about her dreams. No one slept well at night. That’s the burden of command, she thought bitterly. At least the missions went nicely... In the last days of July they had to be transferred away from the front again. Many wondered how long they would, or indeed could, fall back before running out of room.

Then she got the worst news possible: Stavropol was under threat of occupation, almost in artillery-range already. Marina tried to stop her from going, what if she was hurt or killed? But she had to go. Apparating to her front-yard, a scene of horror played out around her. People clogged the streets, driving horse-carts or simply carrying their belongings. Big guns boomed in the distance, smoke rising from the western suburbs and surrounding villages. People shouted, looking for missing relatives.

Her house was secure, she had warded it herself and there were just a few things of value inside. But her parents lived on the western side of the town! Had they escaped already? Were they hurt?

She quickly apparated to the street her parents lived on. In the chaos no one would notice her appearing out of thin air. The smell of smoke was heavy in the air, the booming louder. She was alone on the street. But that was good, right? They would have left already! She ran to the house.

When she arrived she saw that the door was open. She ran inside. “Mother? Father? Are you here? Anastasia? Uncle Nikolai?” No one answered. Her parents seem have fled already, having taken her uncle and his young daughter with them. She checked all the rooms. Clothes strewn around, drawers hanging open, a ripped suitcase on the floor... The family picture they had taken three years ago was missing. She felt tears in her eyes. They were ok, they had to be! But she couldn’t stay here, the front approaching, and she couldn’t go looking for them. All she could do was hope... Hope and at least keep the house safe. 

She went outside and looked around. No living being was to be seen. She then took out her wand and started a complicated incantation. She had learned the spell in her last year at Durmstrang, having earned her place in the Advanced Warding class. No human who didn’t share blood with her would be able to step foot on their grounds. She added an illusion-component to the spell, making the house appear a burnt-out ruin. The spell would be in effect for six months and she hoped by then they could return. She might not be able to shield the house from bombs, but at least she could prevent looting or arson.

A tear fell from her cheek. She hoped it would be enough. By Koshei, why did all this have to happen...  
\----------  
In far away Germany, in his mansion in the Black Forest, Grindelwald was happy. The war was progressing nicely. Manipulating that foolish Austrian had been far easier than expected. The Muggles were showing their barbarian behaviour for the world to see. After the war the Ministries would recognize that something had to be done. If the Muggles annihilated themselves, the wizards, too, would be killed. He didn’t care about how many Muggles died. But magical blood was sacred, spilling it was a sacrilege. Something would have to be done before that happened. The Muggles would have to be subdued. Under the benevolent rule of the wizards they would be kept from destroying the Earth with their barbarian wars.

Apparently some Russian Mudbloods had decided to involve themselves in the war. Their Ministry tried to keep it a secret, but he had friends in high places. After all, there was a lot of intermarrying between the Nobles, and a long history of friendship between the German and Russian Ministry. Let them fight, he thought, let them get killed. After the war was over he would make their existence known to the world, incite hate against their kind. Irresponsible Mudbloods, threatening the secrecy just to lose the war… It was a happy thought. 

He smiled. His efforts to infiltrate the German Ministry were going nicely as well. All the old families shared his views, and even some Halfbloods were already convinced. If all went well, he would be ready after the Muggle war was over. If only it went on for two or three more years. The Muggles would likely invent even worse weapons to kill each other with, and he would use their actions to justify the war he would wage on them. Contrary to the current one, his war would be over in days. After all, which government could stand against a single wizard of his might? He would enjoy it tremendously, crushing them under his boot...  
\----------  
“Are you alright, Yevdokia?” Marina said anxiously. They were alone in the shed, sitting around the big table. “I don’t know...” Came the response. Was she truly alright? Physically yes, but the worry about her family must be like a knife, twisting in her guts. “They will be alright. You said it yourself, they fled before something happened. The Southern Front will stop the German advance and they will be safe behind the lines.” Marina said, trying to sound convinced. Their commander had to be able to do her job. If her mind was elsewhere she would make a mistake again, like at Pokrovskoye, where they had been shot at.

The door opened and Polina walked in. “Yevdokia, Marina, Sergey is back. He is outside and wants to talk to you. He looks like shit by the way.” She said with a small smile.

The two women looked at each other. What has he done this past month? And what was he planning now? They wordlessly got up and walked outside.

They could see that Polina wasn’t lying. Sergey had bags under his bloodshot eyes. He hadn’t shaved in some time, his long hair in disarray. His robes were as flawless as ever, though. Had they a charm woven into them? They wouldn’t put it past the Nobles.

“Ms. Bershanskaya, Ms. Raskowa.” He said, voice hoarse. They merely nodded. “Please gather the Night Witches. I have an announcement to make.”

Marinas heart immediately sank. Was this the end of the Night Witches? Were they shut down? But they hadn’t broken their oaths! They couldn’t be taken out of the war now, when every soldier was trying to stop the German advance. Yevdokia said something to that effect, between all the curse-words.

Sergey just raised his hands to calm them down, having a sad look on his face. “Please calm down, Ms. Bershanskaya.” She didn't listen, continuing her rant. The other Night Witches were coming towards them, having heard the shouts of rage.

At the sight of her friends approaching Yevdokia calmed down slightly. She was the commander, she was supposed to have a cooler head. Sergey sighed, “Seeing as everyone has already gathered around me, we might as well start. Actions have consequences. According to reports the German soldiers are calling you Nachthexen, Night Witches. I’m sure that the name has nothing to do with you actually being witches." He laughed bitterly, as if at a private joke, but then continued seriously. "But you are known. The German Ministry knows you exist. They got a hold of my reports somehow. And since you haven’t broken your oaths that means there has to be a spy somewhere high up in our Ministry.”

Marina was shocked. They had been discovered? Wizards weren’t supposed to interfere in Muggle affairs and they had willingly disobeyed that directive. But the Russian Ministry had granted them their wish to fight! Were they stabbing them in the back now that the secret was out?

“They demanded an explanation, and our Ministry couldn’t just lie about this... affair. No wizard is supposed to interfere with the non-magical world, and though you know that it’s not international law, every Ministry enforces the secrecy. The Germans know we broke that rule and demanded consequences.” He rubbed at his eyes, sighing. “Upon hearing me explain the situation, by your own actions you are hereby expelled from the jurisdiction of the Russian Ministry of Magic by order of the Duma and the Secret Council. Your blood oath was already disbanded earlier today by the Volkv. I was supposed to keep you secret and I failed. I was fired from the Ministry, my name removed from the Table of Ranks, my wealth seized and I, too, was expelled. To show the Germans that we take the law seriously. Your status is now as country-less witches and no one will help you. Any jobs you have will already be lost by now.”

Stunned silence fell over the Night Witches. Marina felt like she was going to be sick. Sergey continued, looking like he would never be happy again. “But there is a bit of hope for us yet.” He looked in their faces, his eyes glittering with unshed tears, a grim look in them.

“The Secret Council agreed publicly with the Duma’s decision. Privately they agree that this war will spill over into the magical world sooner or later, whether we want it or not. If the Muggles lose, the German Ministry might try to take us over and our independence has to be secured. They agree to let you continue your fight.” At this there were confused looks in the crowd. “You can act as you see fit now. Your existence here is tolerated for as long as the country is at war, no matter the outcome. After the war is officially over, you have two days to get your affairs in order and then leave the Russian Ministry’s jurisdiction, never to return. The harsh need for secrecy imposed upon you before is suspended, but you are to continue to act like the 588th Night Bomber Regiment. The laws of the Ministry no longer apply to you, but you won’t be harmed as long as the war is raging. The Secret Council will see to that.”

Marina wanted to ask him if this was a joke. But she feared she might throw up if she opened her mouth. They were expelled from the magical community... They had lost everything! What would they do when the war was finished? Would they even survive, now that the Ministry’s support was gone? How could this have happened...

The silence hung heavy in the air. Eyes darted around, looking for reassurance, looking for a sign that all this was just a sick joke by Sergey. But as they saw him standing there, the same desperation on his face, they knew that it was real. That they had lost everything, even the possibility to visit their families after the war.

“What… I… Sergey…” Yevdokia said, tears in her eyes. “Are you serious? This has to be a joke, right? There is no way the Ministry would just abandon us! Right?” She said almost pleadingly, as if Sergey could do anything to change the present.

“Ms. Bershanskaya,” he looked at her, “As much as I would like it to be, this is no joke. The Ministry effectively told us: ‘Go fuck yourselves and have fun in the war!’ to put it in easier to understand terms.” He said, voice heavy with rage. “There is nothing you can do about this, you wouldn’t even be able to enter Magical Moscow now, let alone the Ministry. And neither would I.”

Natalya and Valentina were openly crying now, the other witches not far away from joining them. All they had worked for, the training, the danger they put themselves in... The Ministry had sworn them to secrecy and in return they weren’t able to keep the promise in return. Or they hadn’t wanted to. Marina felt a cold rage inside of her. What if she persuaded the others to fly one last mission over the Minister of Magic’s summer mansion? They would likely end up dead, but what had they to live for now? They couldn’t return after the war was over, and if they lost there wouldn’t be any families to return to!

Sergey cleared his throat, ripping her away from her panicked thoughts. Twelve heads turned towards him. “The Muggles also saw fit to transfer you, apparently they are impressed with your Regiment. Since you are no longer under the Ministry’s command you can do what you want, but if you wish to continue flying you should obey the Muggle-Military. You will be attached to General of the Army Georgy Konstantinovich Zhukov, Western Front. You will act as a special unit under his direct command, thus limiting knowledge of you to one Muggle. He was already informed and signed the contract, one of my own making. He also was the General who planned the defence of Moscow and seems to be a good commander. You will be under his command until this war is done. The Secret Council supports this decision.”

Sergey started walking towards the shed, twelve heads following his movement. Silence fell again over the group of people, only interrupted by the sounds of his boots. He stopped when he gripped the door handle and looked back.

“His orders, and now ours as well, are to defend Stalingrad at all costs. Report tomorrow at 2:00pm at Kamenyy Airfield, north of the City. I’ll go lie down for a bit.”

With that he entered the shed, leaving the women to their despair.  
\----------  
End Note: I have now introduced almost all of the planned characters by now and next chapters will likely be less description and more action/important interactions/bombing runs. Sorry not sorry, I like writing that stuff. Plus their happy-go-lucky attitude has now been truly been ended by the war and the Ministry.

End Note 2: I don’t know about field telephones or soviet air force callsigns (other than name-number-number or number-number-number), that’s too obscure even for me. My very basic knowledge is enough so please don’t @ me. And don’t @ me because of the translitteration of russian words. Frontlines and dates should be somewhat accurate though.


	5. Beneath the starlight of the heavens – Unlikely heroes in the sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in August; A hero; A tragedy in the skies; A bright light; A realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: Got new fans, shoutout to nichimoko! And a shoutout to Nillyb18 for your kudo! It’s so nice reading comments of people saying they like my story and receiving kudos! And don’t worry, I WILL finish this, despite what the chapter-counter might have said. So please enjoy this new chapter. Btw the official fic-soundtrack aside from the obvious Sabaton-song is Shostakovich’s Symphony Nr. 7
> 
> I'll try to update this fic once a week, but I'm still mainly writing for my own entertainment (though I'm really happy you nice people like it) and the next chapter might take a bit longer, since I'll have to fix my planned timeline and do a bit of research :)
> 
> And a special hello to Bob!
> 
> TW: Descriptions of gore in this one, but not too detailed.

Chapter 5 – Beneath the starlight of the heavens – Unlikely heroes in the sky

Dust. The damn dust was everywhere. They had been at their new airfield for three hours and it already got everywhere. In their boots, their beds, even their mouths. The summer burned the dry steppe soil and the wind blew it everywhere. Massive artillery bombardment did the rest. It was the beginning of August and the front was coming nearer each day. Their new home was 2km outside of the village of Kamenyy, about 30km north of the city. They were not near any supply-roads, and the bushes and high grass of the steppe made for good cover against any observers. The Muggles had clearly put at least some effort into making a runway, not that they needed it.

Polina and Natalya were watching Wladimir setting up his field telephone. There was little else to do. Both didn’t feel like talking after the news yesterday, but they didn’t want to be alone either. So they sat in silence under some bushes, watching him work. If he was aware of them, he didn’t show it. He quietly whistled a meaningless tune, working in concentration. Polina envied him. He wasn’t expelled of his community, he didn’t have to leave his home and friends after the war, he could return. There might not be anything to return to, but that was true for the Night Witches as well. But he had the option, should he so desire. It wasn’t fair.

She looked over at Natalya. She had her jounal open in her lap, pencil in hand, but the pages were blank. She had a look of barely contained fury on her face. Polina couldn’t fault her, the situation was grim for them all. The blank pages were fitting though, she thought, what was there to think about anyway? At least they would fly again this night. Yevdokia was at HQ right now, meeting General of the Army Zhukov for the first time. Polina looked forward to tonight. The feeling of flying was… liberating. In the skies there was no worry, only determination and freedom. They would make the Germans pay as if they worked in the Ministry, she thought bitterly.

Wladimir seemed to have finished. He stood up, wiped his hands and looked around. Apaprently not finding, who or what he was looking for he came over to them and saluted. “Comrades Lieutenants Gelman and Meklin? Have you seen Comrade Lieutenant Stupina? I’m finished and need new orders.” Polina didn’t know where Valentina was. Natalya just snorted. “What’s with the ‘Comrade Lieutenant’ all the time, Kolosow?” She asked him angrily. “We’re not your Comrades, we’re not even in the damn army! We’re not anything anymore!” She stood up and walked away, turning towards the shed. Wladimir looked confused, Polina a bit less so. Tensions were high, maybe she just needed to vent a bit. Still, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Don’t worry too much about her.” She said. “The situation is… beyond bad, but that’s not your fault. But you really should stop calling us by our ranks, especially since now we’re neither with your army nor with our Ministry.” - “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Comrade… Ms. Gelman.” He said, clearly uncomfortable at not adressing her properly. “Sit down then, might as well explain it to you. There’s nothing to do anyway.”

He hesitated, but after an angry glare from her he slowly sat down, eyeing her suspiciously. Natalya had said that writing helped her, maybe talking would have the same effect. Besides, no one had time to explain the situation to him, and since he was stuck with them, he should know what happened. Also his contract was in all likelihood still in effect, and if not there was no way he would know. Polina took a deep breath and started. She talked briefly about the Ministry, then about Marina and Yevdokia founding and training the unit and finally about the events of yesterday. Wladimir listened with a wary look, that soon turned into interest. When she finished, he took a while until he talked again.

“So… You left your self-imposed secrecy to help the… non-magics with approval of your Ministry, that exists, and they just abandoned and expelled you when the German one asked questions?” She just nooded. “Sounds like assholes to me, pardon my expression Ms. Gelman. There seems to be little backbone among wizards.” She looked him in the eyes. “Ah, this unit excluded.” He quickly added. Polina allowed herself a small smile. At least he kind of understood their situation and was on their side. “But…” He started again, “What will you do now? Will you continue, or abandon the fight and go elsewhere?” She thought she heard a slight accusation in the last part. She couldn’t be angry at him for that, after all the Muggles were suffering the hardest in this war.

“No.” She answered, “We have to continue. We literally can’t do anything else. The other Ministries would likely already be informed about our exclusion. There is nowhere else to go. Maybe America…” She trailed off. They sat in silence for some time, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one.

“When I first got the orders that I was to be transferred to a Bomber Regiment I was happy. Airstrips aren’t really shelled by artillery, and I would avoid the frontline. Now I’d almost prefer the 21st Army, to be honest. All this politics…” Wladimir said after some time.

Polina nodded, understanding the sentiment. But in every war there’s politics, she guessed, and there was little she could do about it. She just hoped night would fall, so that they could fly again…

\----------

The man might have defended Moscow, but he certainly didn’t look like a hero. As he stood at the map table in his field uniform and officer’s hat, he looked more severe, like a disappointed teacher about to give a ten-minute-rant about proper respect. The single light-bulb above his head only made his severe face seem more threatening, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his eyes.

Yevdokia was alone in the room with him, having been ordered to present herself at exactly 4:30pm. Didn’t he hear her entering the room? She cleared her throat. Might as well get this over with, maybe he’ll let us fly tonight, she thought.

He looked up at the sound and looked at her, his grim expression unchanged. Yevdokia saluted him. “Lieutenant Colonel Bershanskaya reporting for duty!” - “At ease.” He said without saluting. “I won’t salute, as you are not officially part of the Red Army if my information is correct.” He took off his cap and wiped at his brow, before putting it on his head again. “Two days ago I didn’t know there was magic and witches on brooms, and it could’ve stayed that way. But you are here now and you are able to fight, yes?” He didn’t wait for a response. “I don’t know how you fly or what you drop from your brooms, but the reports I received talk very highly of you. How many are there of you and how long can you fly?” He asked, this time pausing to wait for an answer. Yevdokia was confused, but if he wanted to get straight to business, she wouldn’t stop him. She could respect that. He certainly didn’t seem distressed by the existence of magic. Or just didn’t care enough to ask questions.

“There are twelve of us, two on a broom. If you’ve read the reports you know we flew three missions a night to great success. We also have charmed our googles so we can see at night. A normal Muggle-Bomber would have to return after dropping its bombs, but we just fly on to the next target after looking at the damage.” He frowned but nodded. “Six brooms are not enough for what I had planned, but I likely can’t change that. Until yesterday I thought you were a regular unit with around 40 planes.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “You’ll just have to make up the difference. You have a working field telephone?” - “Yes, it’s being set up right now, Sir.” - “Good, you’ll get your orders that way. Report to me personally every three days at HQ for a detailed report. My Staff was made aware of your Regiment - as a normal unit that is – and will take your reports, should I be away. You’ll harass the Germans at night, primarily supply depots or large concentrations of soldiers. They won’t have one peaceful night of sleep for as long as you fight. Forget three missions a night, you’ll fly five or more.” - “Mr. Zhukov, with all respect-” - “It’s General of the Army Zhukov for you, unlike you I’ve earned my rank!” He said angrily, glaring at her fake insignia.

Yevdokia was taken aback. He was a famous General, but was this how all successful leaders acted? Or was he just tired and cranky? Anyway, she couldn’t make him angry at them if she wanted to contribute in a meaningful way to the war. “I’m sorry, General of the Army Zhukov.” She said hesitantly. “But flying and casting spells is exhausting and five times a night is really all that I think we can do…” She saw him getting angrier with each word until he exploded. “Fuck that! You want to leave your precious secrecy and fight in the war? You’ll follow your orders! And those orders are ‘Not a step back!’” He shouted, “NOT A STEP BACK! We are ordered to hold the city, and we will hold it. The soldiers at the front are doing their part! The civilians in the city dig trenches and operate AA guns! Civilians younger than even you! And you complain about flying more than five times a night?! What little aircrafts I have at my disposal are flying from sunrise to sunset, German air superiority be damned! You’ll do as you are ordered! I can’t have you shot but I’d be very well within my rights if I’d disband your unit, your fucking contract be damned!” He calmed down a bit, still glaring angrily at her. “Come here. The enemy is approaching from the west. Here are Zhirkovskiy, Perelazovskiy and Russkaya. They were taken today, but we blew up the bridges when we retreated. Bomb the villages, focus on the bridges, their equipment and then houses. Scorched earth. You can buy us maybe half a day if all goes well. Should be plenty of targets. If the steppe burns it burns, the wind is coming from the east this night. Dismissed.”

Yevdokia saluted and left without another word. She didn’t know what to think of him. He was very aware of their forged documents, but at least he was willing to let them fight under him. But he also got angry quickly. Nevermind, she thought, we’ll show him soon enough that we are a good fighting unit! How dare he insult us in such a way! Even if three villages had to burn, she’d show him how strong they were...

\----------

“Night Witches! Gather round!” Yevdokia yelled. Marina was just coming back from a stroll to try clear her mind. There wasn’t really anything to look at in the steppes, but walking was better than doing nothing. And now it looked like she would lose what tranquillity she found. At least they would fly…

She was the last to arrive and when Yevdokia saw her she started. “I just spoke to General of the Army Zhukov. He told me two things: First, we will be flying more than five missions a night!” At this there was grumbling among the Witches. “I know, I know, but we have to find out our limits sometimes. If there is a hard limit to our missions I promise we won’t fly more than that!” The grumbling stopped slowly. “Second, we have three missions tonight. Earlier today the villages of Russkaya, Perelazovskiy and Zhirkovskiy were taken. We are to bomb them!” Now there were shouts of discontent, though she didn’t recognize the individual voices. “Calm down, please. I know it’s terrible, but I can’t very well oppose my orders, especially when I’m not really in the army and of much lower rank. They were captured today, there aren’t any civilians in them, I promise!” Marina still felt bad at having to destroy the homes of innocent men, women and children. At least there wouldn’t be any civilian casualties… hopefully. “Take-off at 00:30am! We do the whole thing in one flight, then we can rest! Assemble at 0:15am! Dismissed!” The women slowly dispersed, going about their business.

“Marina, a word please.” She heard behind her and turned around. It was Yevdokia, looking worried. “I don’t want to destroy the homes of civilians.” She said in a low voice. “But those are our orders. We are committed to this now and I need my friends to support me in this.” - “Yevdokia… Are the villages really clear of any civilian? Look me in the eye and say you can prove there are only soldiers in them.” Marina demanded of her commander. Yevdokia didn’t look at her. “They fell earlier today, there won’t be any, Marina. They had enough time to escape.” Marina was silent for some time after that. She knew enough about strategy to see it was a good plan, denying shelter to the invaders. And if there were civilians, the General would have told Yevdokia, wouldn’t he? “I’ll talk to them.” She finally said. Her friend and commander looked relieved. “Thanks, Marina. We need to stick together in this.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes though. She turned away and walked to the shed. Marina wondered what happened to her friend, the happy women she knew from school and from training. Shrugging, she started walking towards the others. She said she’d talk to them and she would. Maybe her caster, Olga, would help her...

\----------

Those Il-2s are really good machines too, Sofiya thought. She and her friend Khiuaz had apparated away from their base and walked the steppe for an hour before finding a suitable tree to climb. She could see for kilometers around even with her naked eye, her charmed binoculars unleashing their full potential in the clear early evening air. She was watching the lone ground-attack aircraft as it approached the frontlines. “Can you see anything?” Khiuaz asked from below. In the aftermath of the news yesterday nobody wanted to be alone, and she also had an interest in Muggle aviation. “One of those Il-2 ground-attack aircrafts coming from the east, flying low! Look there!” She pointed.

The aircraft was maybe 300m away, flying slowly at below 100m. She wondered what their mission was, how the pilots felt. Did they too have nightmares? They must, after all they, too, were killing with guns and bombs. “There! Look north!” Khiuaz shouted suddenly. She looked and saw two black dots, flying high, approaching the Il-2. She raised her binoculars but in her heart she already knew what she would see. German fighters!

The Russian pilot realized the danger he was in too late. He didn’t have time to turn towards them, so he presented his tail, his gunner opening fire. Tracers flew back and forth. One of the Germans started to smoke and turned away, but the other made it past the Il-2. The tailgunner stopped firing, white smoke could be seen from the engine. They both repositioned during the firing-pause, the Il-2 flying lower, the German gaining altitude for his finishing blow. It was heart-wrenching; having to watch, not being able to do anything. The Russian plane flew in their direction now, seeking the AA-cover of the strongpoints nearer to the city. But it was too late.

A final salvo from the German and the smoke turned black, the engine stuttered, then gave out, the plane slowly started to descend. The fighter was now directly over them, the noise of his engine deafening. Both ducked instinctively, but he couldn’t have seen them. The Il-2 crashed not far from them, a grey pillar of smoke and dust slowly rising to the white and blue skies.

“We have to help them! Get down here, come on!” Khiuaz yelled. “No one could have survived that! And what if the German comes back?!” - “Sofiya, dammit, we have to help! You’d want someone to help you too in that situation, right?” Sofiya cursed silently. Her friend was right, people had to help each other. They would figure something out to explain their presence. She hopped down and both started running.

The scene of the crash was awful. The nose of the plane had burrowed into the ground, the tail was sticking into the air. One wing had broken off. The fuselage was riddled with holes. Black smoke rose from the engine, flames licking at the metal. Both women stopped for a moment, stunned. They had never seen an aircraft up close, nevermind one that was shot down just now.

“There!” Khiuaz yelled. “I saw movement in the cockpit!” Sofiya wanted to warn her, it could explode, or the ammunition could ignite, or the fighter could come back… But she followed her, two steps behind. The wing on their side was intact so they both jumped up on it and looked inside the cockpit.

The pilot still was alive, but he wouldn’t be for long. A bullet had pierced his chest, he was coughing blood. His face was cut from the broken glass of the cockpit. He looked at them. “Who… are you?” He coughed, his hand fumbling for his sidearm. “Relax, we are friends.” Sofiya said. He relaxed visibly, hearing his native language instead of German. “Fucker got me… Vanya’s dead… I don’t want… to die.” Tears welled up in his eyes. Khiuaz reached out for him, grasping his hand. “It’s ok, it’s ok, we’ll get you out of here.” She reassured him. “Sofiya, do something!” Sofiya grabbed her wand but couldn’t remember any spell. Healing charms weren’t her specialty and besides, he was likely mortally wounded. Tears welled up in her eyes too.

“Please… please… give this to my family.” He took a small ebony cylinder out of his pocket and pressed it into Khiuaz’ hand. “Get Vanya’s too… tell them… I… Tell them I did good…” His head sunk to his chest. “That I loved them… And Tatyana…” His last words were a whisper and then he was gone, his hands falling limply to his sides.

Both women were crying now. Sofiya silently, Khiuaz shouting at him not to give up and at her to do something. But he was beyond any help now. She turned to her friend and hugged her, both crying against each other. The smoke drifted lazily in the breeze, the only sounds the crying and the soft crackling of the fire.

They couldn’t remember how long they stood on that wing, but a sudden increase in the heat of the fire shook them out of their breakdowns. Both reflexively cast a quick _aguamenti_ and the flames died down, the metal hissing like an angry snake. “I guess I’ll get Vanya’s cylinder.” Khiuaz said, more to herself. Sofiya jumped down from the wing and sat on the ground. Her hands were shaking and opening the cylinder took her until her friend returned from climbing to the tailgunner, her hands red with blood.

“The first run must’ve got him. So much blood...” She said with a dead voice. What’s inside?” Sofiya finally managed to get the cylinder open. In it was just a slip of paper. She unrolled it and read aloud: “Pjotr Antonovich Kovalchuk, Lieutenant of Aviation, 226th Assault Aviation Division, 8th Air Army, A-261636” Silence fell once again.

“That’s everything. Nothing more… What do we do now?” Sofiya asked after some time, fresh tears in her eyes. “We… we have to bury them. Then… I don’t know, give their cylinders to Yevdokia? She could take them to HQ…” Sofiya nodded. Better to do something than sitting and crying.

They levitated the corpses out of the plane as gently as they could. When Sofiya saw the condition of the tailgunner, no, Ivan Ivanovich Tamarkin, she threw up. He was riddled with bullets and shrapnel, half of his head missing, his torso a mass of blood and fabric. She couldn’t bear to look at him, so her friend conjured a black piece of cloth to cover both corpses.

The graves were dug quickly. They wrapped each soldier in black cloth and levitated them down. Khiuaz suggested saying a few words, but both didn’t know what to say. They just thanked them for fighting and hoped they would find peace with their loved ones. Sofiya transfigured two simple crosses from debris from the plane, their names and numbers on them. Both stayed there for some time, standing besides the graves in silence. When it started to get dark, they apparated back to near their base. They walked home hugging each other, not wanting to feel alone after what they had witnessed. Sofiya wondered if that was the fate that was awaiting them all. Shot down, dying after seeing a friendly face for the last time, the last thoughts about a family they wouldn’t be returning to. But they couldn’t return, even if they survived. Tears rolled down her face again, glittering in the evening sun.

\----------

“Good job, Witches! One more target this night!” Yevdokia yelled over the noise from below. Their first mission from the new airstrip did go well so far. They were flying south to north, bombing first Russkaya and then Perelazovskiy. The bridges in both towns were destroyed, as well as multiple trucks, tents and houses. Now there was just Zhirkovskiy left and then they could go home. She worried about her friends. Sofiya and Kiuaz saw how a plane was shot down today. They gave her the identification cylinders of the pilots to take them to HQ but refused to speak further, hiding in their rooms until it was time to assemble. She hoped they’d be ok…

The last village was ahead now. It would look peaceful in the twilight of her goggles were it not for the destroyed houses, some still smoking. The army seemed to have fought a hard retreat. They would honour their sacrifice by delaying the invaders further. “Final target ahead! 3 and 5, target the bridge! 2, 4, 6 with me! Spread out and cast freely on my command!” All acknowledged her orders. They flew silently over the steppes. a deathly shadow in the black sky.

“Ready! 10 seconds! 5 seconds! Cast!” As always, her final word was followed by explosions on the ground. The fireballs briefly lit the village, debris casting long shadows on the ground. And like always it was over as quickly as it had begun. Turning her head she saw figures running around. A searchlight was lit, but it pointed in the wrong direction.

They turned around to look at what their spells had achieved. Yevdokia could see that the bridge-repair site lay in waste, not even the foundations on the banks surviving. She also could see several figures on the ground, lying still in dark, spreading pools of blood. Others thrashed and screamed. She didn’t care. The thought startled her. Those were still human beings! Human beings that burned down every non-essential village they passed, humans that shot civilians and prisoners alike, men that did unspeakable things… Maybe they deserved the silent death, coming out of the black sky. They were now almost clear of the village, but she was still lost in her thoughts. No, she couldn’t bring herself to care about those dead and wounded. They wouldn’t care if they shot her down and she was killed or maimed either. The brightness of the searchlight ripped her away from her thoughts. “Split up! Split up! Keep flying low!” She shouted, her orders obeyed in an instant. But no bullets came. Maybe they got their MGs...

They flew back to base after regrouping, nervous about what might happen. But nothing did. A sigh of relief could be heard once they were back on the ground. Sofiya and Khiuaz immediately vanished to the shed, but the rest stayed behind. It wasn’t comparable to the aftermath of their first mission. The Night Witches talked about what happened, even a chuckle could be heard. Their earlier concerns forgotten, having seen soldiers killed by their spells. The coldness in her heart must have spread, Yevdokia realized. The suffering they caused now seemed normal. Three months ago, such thoughts would have been scary, but now… Why should they care if they killed. If they cared about them or not, the enemy would still kill them, or worse.

But she also wondered if this was right. It didn’t really feel right, that was for sure, but… She couldn’t bring herself to care anymore. She did this to keep her family safe, to keep the Muggles safe. At least that helped her sleep…

\----------

When Sofiya and Khiuaz entered the shed they stopped dead in their tracks. Sergey had finally left his room and was sitting at the big table, an empty bottle in front of him and a half empty one in his hand, lost in his thoughts. The door fell shut behind them noisily and startled him from his thoughts. He looked at them with red eyes. “Welcome back, heroes.” He said, slurring his words. “Sergey… are you alright?” Sofiya asked. He was an asshole, but he still worked with them and he, too, was expelled from the magical community.

“Never better. Nice, warm evening, full bottle, beautiful women… So happy I could cry.” He said, bitterness creeping into his words. “Sergey, this… Drinking isn’t a solution.” Khiuaz worried. “Ah, piss off willya? Not much left I can do!” He took a long sip and gestured with the bottle. “House gone, Nobility gone, Job gone… Fuck should I do? You got an opening?” He scoffed, “Might as well join the fuckin’ Muggle army. Get me a rifle and a helmet… And boots...” Both looked at him in shock. “Good flying today?” He asked them. “Well… We hit our targets this night.” Sofiya answered. It was oddly sad, seeing the man who had been so awful to them like this. He had started to grow on them, especially after he apologized for his behaviour. But he had ruined that with his little storm-off after the ‘telephone-affair’, as it was called. And he also lost his job and possessions because of them...

“Sergey, drinking your troubles away doesn’t work. Worries are good swimmers and more have drowned in a bottle than at sea.” Sofiya started, using the favourite phrases of her mother. They always worked on her and her father. She immediately felt sad at the thought of them. She lost contact to them after the war started and hoped they managed to flee. Russia was big after all, they would manage to flee or at least hide. She wouldn’t even consider the alternative... “It won’t bring your old life back.” She continued, not wanting to think further about that subject. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what happened to you.” - “Oh, _you’re_ sorry?” He asked, voice full of hate as he finally looked at her. “Fuck are you sorry for?! You did nothing wrong!” He stood up shakily and tried to walk towards her but stopped when he had to stabilize himself on the table. “Damn vodka… No, you’re innocent. Kept your oath, kept it secret, very hush-hush. No!” He was getting louder. “The fucking Ministry! They’re to blame! Got a spy somewhere! Caved to the fucking Germans! All those ‘Vons’ and Barons and Counts! Got our Nobles in their pocket!” He tried to turn around and walk back to his chair but gave up and just sat on the floor.

“No need to fire old Sergey... Only did my job is all…” He had tears in his eyes now. The women looked at each other, confused expressions on their faces. They thought he would blame them for losing his status. Sergey just looked at their boots, continuing his rant. “And what good did it do me? Top of my class back in ‘30! Straight to the Ministry! Fuck them all, fucking Nobility, bunch of inbred assholes…” Sofiya would laugh, were the situation not to sad. A Noble calling others inbred!?

“Know what I should do?” He looked at their faces, his eyes half closed. He won’t last long now, Sofiya thought. He didn’t seem like a regular drinker, at least not vodka, and he had one and a half bottle. “Fuck ‘em! Got nothing else to do now! Might as well live as one of the Commoners now. I’m one now, after all. Fetch me the Muggle! I’ll learn the tephelone! I’ll learn everything! Met a cobbler, once… nice fella, his son was a wizard... seemed like an honest trade… made good boots...” He got progressively more silent, his head sinking down until he slumped over, spilling his drink and starting to snore.

“Well… let’s get him to bed.” Sofiya suggested. “Why? He was always an asshole. Let him lie on the floor, should have gotten drunk in his bed if he didn’t want to have a sore back tomorrow.” Khiuaz disagreed. Sofiya frowned. “Come on, no one should sleep on the floor and he’s in a bad place now. He’ll have enough pain in his head tomorrow, a sore back won’t help him getting his act together.” - “Alright, alright.” Khiuaz said, “You levitate, I’ll open the doors.” Sofiya took out her wand and started levitating him. Suddenly she had an image in her mind of a dead and bloody Sergey, dressed like the pilots they buried today, blood dripping on the wooden floor of the common room, chest torn open from shrapnel. She gasped for air and the spell broke, Sergey falling half a meter to the floor with a thud. He didn’t wake though, just grunted and snored on. Her friend turned around at the noise. “You alright?” She asked, worry in her voice. “I… I just saw him… as one of the pilots we…” She couldn’t continue. The mission today was hard enough. She didn’t look down on the assessing-run and barely could concentrate on flying. Khiuaz didn’t say anything, just hugged her briefly, nodded and levitated Sergey to his room.

Sofiya instead sat down at the table, picking up the bottle from the floor with her wand. It landed in front of her, still some vodka left. I can’t let it go to waste, she thought, picking it up and drinking the rest. It burned down her throat and she coughed. She didn’t drink very often. But then warmth spread from her stomach and she felt a bit happier. She stood up and went to her room. Maybe she could sleep now…

\----------


	6. Rodina awaits - Defeat them at the gates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August drags on; A ritual; A new oath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: I've got another Kudo from a generous guest, if you read this: You rock! Less action and more character development, at least in this one. The unit has to either reform or break under the stress, there will be more action in the next chapters. I just really need certain developments to happen.

Chapter 6 Rodina awaits – Defeat them at the Gates

  
The last two weeks hadn’t been good, Sergey decided as he literally rolled out of his bed. The clinking of empty bottles had become the music of his life. He wiped a hand over his moist face. The room was stuffy and there was no window... He would have to go outside if he wanted fresh air. He tried to cast a tempus charm, and finally managed on the third try.

10:21pm. Not too late to get something to drink. He stood up, putting a hand against the wall to stabilize himself. I should really stop drinking, he thought. The only son of the former Noble House of Uvarov ov Veliki Novgorod a drunk... But what did it matter?

He went to his door but stopped when he saw his reflection in the small mirror he had placed on the wall there. Bloodshot eyes with huge bags under them, a dirty, scruffy beard, long hair in disarray, a presumably awful smell... He looked like the vagrant that he had become. At least the always-clean-charm on his clothes still worked. He had paid a hefty sum for it to be woven into two sets of robes. In a better time, filled with sweet wine and laughter instead of stolen Vodka and depression...

He turned away from the mirror, his hand resting on the door-handle. No, I shouldn’t drink anymore, he thought. It didn’t really improve his situation, and the few times he saw the Night Witches they looked at him with pity and sadness, rather than anger. They don’t blame me, he remembered. That at least was a comfort.

He stumbled back to his bed and sat down. “Accio Vodka!” He tried, holding out his hand. A nearly full bottle slipped out from under his mattress and flew into his hand. His eyebrows raised in surprise, he didn’t remember hiding it there, but he didn’t really remember the whole last two weeks. If it had been two weeks. He weighed it in his hand. There was a fairly simple ritual to get rid of the effects of too much alcohol over a short time. He could perform it and try to get some pieces of his shattered life together again. But the ritual, among other trivial things like blood, dandelions and nettles, ironically needed alcohol to draw the circle, and in his hands was his last bottle.

He could go outside and get better. The ritual worked like the hangover-cure potion but could be performed on shorter notice and was just as instantaneous. A simple, useful piece of magic if you forgot your cauldron. Or found yourself expelled from the magical community in a bloody war... He could also drink the Vodka and fall asleep again, dreaming of nothing. He took his head in his free hand. Was he really ready to face the Night Witches, who had continued to fight while he got wasted? Could he even face the Muggle? He didn’t know if he had the strength to do it. If he could do anything other than feeling sorry for himself. He just didn’t know...

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She was alone. Alone in an endless black void. She was riding her broom, but her caster Natalya was missing. Suddenly pillars of light sprang into existence. There were searchlights below her, all pointed at her, like she was a soloist at the opera. She heard the booming of AA guns below her, not just MGs. Black clouds appeared in the light around her. She screamed, afraid that every boom she heard would be her last. Then she awoke.

She was wet with sweat, entangled in her thin sheets, a dim lamp lighting the room, casting threatening shadows. She was breathing fast as she looked around. Just a dream, Yevdokia told herself, get yourself together, just a dream...

With a start she realized there was a knocking on her door, sounding urgent. “I’m awake, dammit! Just wait a minute!” She called, untangling her sheets. She threw on a shirt and pants and opened the door. Natalya stood before her a piece of paper in her hand. “Orders for you from HQ, commander.” She handed her a note and left, clearly not wanting to talk to her. “Thank you, Natalya.” She said after her, closing the door. She didn’t really feel like talking either.

The last twenty days were brutal. They flew over five hours now each night, Zhukov having decided they could stomach the stress after their first mission. He told her he didn’t need to see her at HQ, he just gave them more and more missions. She talked less and less to her friends, all either too tired or too emotional to talk. She could understand them. Morale was still down after the shocking news at the beginning of August, but they slowly accepted the reality they had to face. She was proud of the grim determination of her friends, not one Witch wanted to quit and leave. No, they would see this war through to the end.

But their determination was cracking, she thought bitterly. She now had to scream at the Night Witches to get them to listen when they targeted occupied villages. She thought about protesting with the General but dismissed the idea. He wouldn’t listen anyway. But couldn’t her friends see the value such targets had to the invader? The villages were often almost destroyed by the fighting retreat of the Red Army anyway, what did some empty houses matter? When did I become so cynical, she thought. Those are homes, treasured memories were made there, the feeling of being truly home... But she wouldn’t feel that feeling again. Stavropol lay in ruins, her family fled...

All of them were tired. Magical exhaustion was a serious concern after casting too many overpowered _bombarda_ spells in a short time and flying at high velocity was taxing on the pilots. Their days consisted of waking up in the afternoon or evening, eating, and then flying once darkness fell, oftentimes only returning because the sun rose. Nobody wanted to talk, like after their first mission from the new airstrip. Most of the Night Witches went straight to bed or spoke only a few words with their closest friends before disappearing into their rooms. The food they got from the Ministry also started running out. Until recently their charmed cellar was filled by house-elfs, but they had no such support anymore and only food for two more weeks. Marina suggested telling Zhukov, after all they fought and deserved to be fed, but Yevdokia was reluctant. She didn’t want to seem weak before the man. They flew on brooms and cast explosive spells, couldn't they just conjure some food then?

The days were beautiful though, and the nights were cool and clear, but nobody appreciated it, exhausted as they were. Only Wladislaw seemed unfazed, but he had a home to return to and just needed to follow his orders and man the radio. But the front drew ever nearer to the city and they could now hear the distant thunder of artillery and see pillars of smoke. Yesterday the city was bombed, the sky black with airplanes. The explosions could be heard 30km away, a giant cloud of smoke rising south of them. She thought she could feel the earth itself vibrate, there must have been hundreds of bombers and a giant fire. It didn’t help their mood, even their magical help seemed to have come too late in the war...

No, I can’t continue along that line of thought, she resolved. She’d end like Sergey, locking herself in her room, only coming out to forage something to drink. She didn’t even know where he got it from. She sighed, she would have to talk to him in the coming days.

She finally remembered the note Natalya gave her and looked down. It read in her neat handwriting:

_Come into HQ at 3:45pm today – Gen. Zhukov_

She looked at her wristwatch. Only 2:32pm right now, she had time for some more sleep; somehow it was never enough to get rid of the tiredness she constantly felt. She cast a quick charm to wake her in an hour and went back to bed. Maybe she wouldn’t dream this time.

\----------

  
General of the Army Zhukov looked like he lost the person most dear to him, Yevdokia thought as she entered the HQ. He didn’t look up as he spoke: “The Germans have reached the outskirts of the city yesterday after bombing it to hell. We will stop them at the Volga. We have to. Look at the map.” He gestured at her to come closer, drawing lines with his finger. “Their supply lines likely go through Novaya Nadezhda and Nowy Rogatschik. Fly all night, level the places.” He finally looked at her, his eyes tired, missing the fire they had at their first meeting. “You are the most effective air force unit I have now, with total German air superiority during the day. Give it your all. Every crate you destroy, every soldier you kill means less danger for the forces in the city. Questions?”

Yevdokia swallowed. She didn’t think things were that bad. Surely the defence of the city would hold? She could only hope that the General’s plan, whatever it may be, worked. In the meantime, she had to address problems of her own. “I... we don’t have much food left, only about two weeks’ worth. Can you supply us or at least tell us where to look for supplies?” – “Can’t you just use magic?” – “No, you cannot conjure or transfigure food, at least nothing edible. Even magic has rules to obey.” Zhukov didn’t answer right away, he just looked at her in thought. It made Yevdokia nervous, maybe if she explained her situation better... “Until recently we were supplied but... There are problems now and we won’t get anything in the future.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. The General sighed. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do. There will be a truck in Kamenyy in two or three days, details over the radio. You need anything else?” His tone suggested that he hoped there wouldn’t be more wishes.

“Two of my fellow Witches, Sofiya and Khiuaz, saw how a plane was shot down three weeks ago over the steppes. The pilot gave them this cylinder before he died, they also retrieved the one of the tailgunner before burying them.” She held out the black tubes. Zhukov just glanced at them. “Give them to Antonin on your way out, dismissed.” With that he turned back to the map. He didn’t see her sad face as she turned around and left. Not one word of consolation or regret, or of how to inform the families. Of course, a General wouldn’t do such a thing personally, but... He could have said something...

She managed to find this Antonin, a Captain of the Staff, after a short search. He wordlessly took the identification marks and dismissed her, handing them to his subordinate. Yevdokia felt that it would be some time until their families would get the sad news, if ever. How can an army work in such a way, she asked herself. But then again, there was a bigger problem right now, and a lot of ebony cylinders would be found in the coming weeks...

  
\----------  
“How are you, Wladimir?” Polina asked the figure sitting next to the field telephone. It was a quiet late afternoon, the radioman was reading a worn book, occasionally looking up to check the telephone. “Good, Ms. Gelman. Are you ready for your shift?” – “No calls?” – “No, nothing to report, Ms. Gelman.”

The newly established shift-system worked well. He had instructed Valentina, who in turn gave her, Tatyana, Vera and Aleksandra and introduction. Most orders came in at night or in the morning, so those were Wladimir’s hours. The rest of the time the witches organized themselves in two-hour-shifts. Wladimir had taken Vera’s shift this afternoon, she wasn’t feeling well, likely magical exhaustion. They only had to take calls at that time twice anyway, HQ calling them almost exclusively at night or early morning. Did they never sleep?

“What’s that book? Good reading?” She asked, indicating the book. Wladimir shrugged. “ _The Brothers Karamazov_ by Dostoyevsky. I’ve swapped books with my platoon-mate Mikhail before I was transferred, and he insisted that it’s good. I’ve tried three times now and it’s still a bit complicated and dense for my taste. I shouldn’t have traded my Gorky, and now I’ll never get it back...” He stood up and stretched, holding out the book to her. Polina grabbed it, looking it over. It certainly was well read and well stained. “If you want you can read it, maybe you’ll understand it better. Just give it back when you’re finished please. They only call us at night anyway, you might want to do something useful in your shift.” He nodded, smiled and walked to the shack.

As she looked after him, she saw Yevdokia appear from the bushes, coming from the apparition-point. She looks grim; I hope everything is ok, Polina thought. Maybe we’ll have to bomb houses again tonight... She didn’t like those missions, what if they hit innocents? And why didn’t her commander raise concerns with the General?

It was best not think too much about this, she resolved. Whatever happens will happen. She settled down in front of the telephone and opened the book. Let’s see if it’s really that complicated, she thought.

  
\---------- 

The night air was cool, a slight breeze in the air made it even more comfortable after the heat of the day. A lone soldier was sitting in front of the field telephone, waiting for it to ring. The shielded lantern provided just enough light, the roof and tree above him made sure a spotting plane wouldn’t see the light. Across the table lay the field stripped pieces of his rifle. Might as well clean it again, Wladimir had thought, not wanting to sit idle in the dark. That had been nearly an hour ago. He was taking his time, his mind occupied with the news he got earlier while his hands went through the motions. The enemy had reached the outskirts of Stalingrad, the city had been bombed to rubble yesterday. According to Ms. Bershanskaya the Red Army was fighting tooth and nail, and General Zhukov seemed confident they’d stop the Germans at the Volga. Wladimir hoped he was right. Must be past midnight now, he thought, looking at the moon.

The snapping of branches made him turn his head. Someone was in the bushes to his right. Fuck, he thought, it’s dark, I’m alone and have no rifle...

He turned off the lamp, grabbed his bayonet and made his way slowly over to the bushes, walking slowly and in a crouch. He had no special forces training, he didn’t even have close combat training; he was a radioman, dammit! Maybe he should have gone into the shed, he could hide in there, or wait behind the door... No, too late now. He grabbed the long spike of metal harder as he neared his destination. Whoever this was, he was even worse at stealth than he was.

Suddenly the area lit up with a bright light. Wladimir instinctively crouched down, looking away to avoid being blinded. “That should do it...” A man murmured. He knew the voice. It was the Ministry official that came and went sometimes. He, like the women, lost his job and the support of his government. But what was he doing in those bushes? Wladimir decided to scare him a bit, as payback for making him sneak around, worrying about his life. Also the light needed to be turned off, otherwise planes would see them. The bright light got dimmer but was still very visible, on top of that the man himself seemed to faintly glow... Wladimir stood up.

“Who goes there?” He yelled in his best imitation of Senior Lieutenant Popov. “Show yourself! And make that light-“ He saw a red flash and then blackness.

“I’m sorry, Muggle. But you scared me, and I’ve always had good reflexes.” A voice said. Wladimir opened his eyes. How did he get into the shed? He was in the shrubbery, looking for a voice, then a bright light... He sat up and saw the only man other than him in the unit, the wizard Sergey Uvarov. He smiled apologetically, but it didn’t really reach his eyes. He also smelled of alcohol but didn’t seem too drunk.

“I got you pretty good with my stunner, didn’t I? What were you doing there anyway, sneaking around with a metal spike? Did you want to kill me?” His voice got angry. Wladimir didn’t want to anger the wizard, who knew what he was capable of? “I heard branches snapping and I thought there was someone spying on us, so I went to take a look.” – “With a metal spike? And who do you think was sneaking around there, Muggle? The whole area is warded, nobody who isn’t invited can come within 200m of here!”

Wladimir remembered. Ms. Bershanskaya said something like that when he first met her. How could he forget that? He cursed inwardly, he made a fool of himself. “I was cleaning my rifle, so I had only my bayonet... I just wanted to do my duty. If the women were around, I would have informed one of them, but I was alone and...” He sprang up, remembering. “What did you do to me? How long was I unconscious? I have to man the radio!”

Sergey just looked at him. “Maybe five minutes?” He said with a shrug. “I didn’t really pay attention to the time. After I was done, I brought you here and once in the shed cancelled the spell.” – “Dammit, what if HQ called?” Wladimir asked, angry now at the wizard and himself. “What have you lost in the bushes anyway?” – “Shouldn’t you man the radio, now that you’re awake again?” Sergey asked angrily instead of answering the question.

Wladimir threw him a final, hopefully angry, look and went outside. All his belongings were still at his station, this bayonet was stuck in the ground next to his chair. He sat down, turned the shielded lamp on and sighed. I hope I didn’t miss a call, he thought. But I can’t call them, they’re busy... If they try again, I’ll blame the wire...

The sound of steps behind him distracted him from his thoughts. It could only be one person. He sighed as Sergey began to speak. “Look, I really am sorry. I know sneaking around in the bushes” he spoke the words mockingly, “in a war isn’t really ideal. But you should also know that only a wizard could approach this site, and even only then if he tore down the wards, which would alert us. And if there was a wizard your metal toothpick wouldn’t really help, and neither would your rifle.” He said. Wladimir looked him in his bloodshot eyes. His apology seemed more sincere this time, and he wasn’t the type to hold a grudge, especially against a powerful wizard, so he nodded. “I accept your apology, Mr. Uvarov. But in the future, if you lose something again, please don’t use a light to search for it. We are in the steppes, and it can be seen for kilometers. There could be spotters on the ground or in the air in this area, and we want to stay hidden.”

The wizard seemed to think deeply about this. “But the lamp here is also bright, how come you don’t turn that off then?” – “It’s really not that bright compared to the light you made, plus there’s a roof above me and it’s got a shield at the top so the light only shines downwards.”

Sergey seemed to think even deeper about that. After some moments he waved his stick and a cushioned chair appeared. He sat down and looked at Sergey. “Alright then, and how does this field tephelone work?” Wladimir was confused. Was this the wizard’s idea of an apology, to show interest in his work? But his curiosity seemed genuine, otherwise he wouldn’t have sat down... “Well, it’s connected via a landline to the distributer box at HQ, where the calls are sorted. They have a big generator there, but this model has a hand cranked one that-“ – “What’s a generator?” The wizard asked. Wladimir couldn’t believe his ears. “You know, a generator? For creating electricity, the necessary voltage to send voice messages over a long distance?” Sergey just shook his head.

“Oh boy...” Wladimir sighed. It would be a long time. He cleared away the pieces of his rifle as he began trying to explain the concept of electricity to someone who by all rights should know about it. The wizard was older than him, and since the revolution more and more cities and villages had been electrified, so how could he not know about this? But explaining stuff beat sitting around in boredom and worry, and he literally had all night. At least the wizard seemed interested.

"My name is Wladimir Nikolayevich Kolosow, by the way." He said, looking at the Wizard. After a minute of staring at him the man sighed. "Sergey Vladislav Uvarov, of the former Noble House of Uvarov of Veliki Novgorod." They shook hands, eyeing each other warily...

  
\----------

The Village of Kamenyy was deserted. The simple wooden houses empty, some doors nailed shut, all pets and livestock gone. A soft breeze stirred on the dusty road. Some small clouds hung in the sky, but sadly didn’t provide any shade. Four witches, Khiuaz, Serafima, Natalya and Sofiya, sat in the shadow of a house bordering the village square, talking animatedly. “I know she’s our friend but haven’t you noticed how she behaves lately? She’s becoming a worse bully than Headmaster Rurikov back at school was!” Khiuaz almost shouted. Of the four she was the most vocal about the situation. “Yevdokia has a lot on her plate.” Serafima countered. She was tasked to wait with the others for the supply-truck the General had promised them.

The mission yesterday had gone well enough, but the burning city made a grim background to their success. All hoped that their efforts would help to defend Stalingrad, but exhaustion was ever present. Upon their return last night two of her friends, Khiuaz and Valentina, had fallen off their brooms as soon as they touched the ground. She realized it couldn’t continue in that fashion but as third-in-command, didn’t she have to defend her commander?

“Nobody said it was easy.” Natalya, the third of quartet, countered, “But look at the state we’re in! I couldn’t cast a bombarda right now to safe my life! I almost had to side-along apparate here, for Koshei’s sake!” – “The pilots aren’t better off, believe me, my hands shake with such intensity that it affects my broom when I’m flying, but still, you shouldn’t be so hard on her.” Serafima countered.

“Yevdokia isn’t handling this well,” Khiuaz said, more sad than angry now. “Before she used to laugh or at least not yell at us, but now... There’s a coldness in her whole personality. You don’t remember the look Rurikov would give us if he met one of us in the hallways? That distance and disdain, like he expected each order he gave to be followed immediately? Give her one more week, she might as well grow a goatee!” Khiuaz got progessively louder again. “What do you think, Sofiya? You’ve seen it too, right?” She turned to the fourth witch.

Sofiya seemed to think before she spoke, and Serafima was thankful for that. “I... honestly, I’m just too exhausted to think about it. I do as I am told and am glad I have almost all day to sleep and relax.” Khiuaz looked hurt and opened her mouth, but Sofiya continued. “At the same time though... She doesn’t lead as much as before. She just orders us now and it’s sad in a strange way.” Khiuaz looked happy at that. Serafima sighed, but Natalya was faster in answering. “And what do you propose we do about it?” She asked, now angry. “Just replace her with Marina? Travel secretly to Magical Moscow to recruit a hit-witch? We elected her as our commander and we can’t replace her just because she’s growing distant!”

Khiuaz wasted no time responding. “I just say that she should insist to the General to shorten our flying-time each night, but she doesn’t respond when I or others bring it up.” – “But the Muggles are giving it all to defend the city,” Serafima interjected, “How can we give anything less just because we aren’t as used to fighting as they are. She says the civilians in Stalingrad are digging trenches and operating the AA guns, and they, too, have no experience or magic. How can we be so selfish?”

Khiuaz didn’t respond at first, she breathed slowly and obviously tried to calm down. “Look,” she said, “I didn’t mean it like that. But you can’t, in good conscience, say that fighting like this is fine and we can continue flying all night. Look me in the eye and say it, Fima!”

Serafima tried, but she couldn’t. Deep inside she knew that it was only a matter of time before either Yevdokia was so tired she made a mistake or one of her friends injured themselves because of magical exhaustion. She instead looked along the road, trying to think. A plume of dust was rising, coming closer from the north. She stood up.

“Please just answer her and don’t walk away.” Sofiya said softly, looking up at her. “I’m not going anywhere.” Serafima answered. She pointed to the north. “The supplies are arriving, look at the dust.” Three heads turned north. “I understand that you’re upset, Khiuaz, and you are right.” She said, not looking at her friend. “But I also don’t know how to improve either our situation or at least our stamina...”

Khiuaz stood up, a small smile on her lips. “Sofiya and I actually have some thoughts on that.” – “Please leave me out of this.” The other witch said tiredly, but Khiuaz just smirked at her. “No way, you had the idea, remember eight or nine days ago?” Sofiya frowned while standing up. Suddenly her face lit up. “You don’t mean...” – “Oh yes, I do.” Was the triumphant answer. “I’ll tell you after we’ve unloaded the supplies, it’ll take some time.”

Two trucks rounded the corner to the village square, loaded heavily with crates. The drivers wondered why women in non-military clothing were receiving them, but their papers were in order. Following the suggestion of the women they went down to the creek at the edge of the village while they unloaded the trucks. If seemed a bit impolite, but they had insisted, and a break was always welcome...

Serafima grinned, but it soon faltered. Casting the mild compulsion spell to let the Muggles take a break down by the creek was easy. Levitating the heavy crates off the trucks on the other hand was easier in the past, before they flew and cast all night. At least she’d have time to listen to Khiuaz’ plan on the long walk back. They’d have to levitate in shifts, she realized. They really needed a good rest...

  
\----------

  
Yevdokia cursed her fate. The last two nights they bombed the German supply-lines and it didn’t seem to make any difference. She was still exhausted, the enemy advanced further, her friends grew even more distant. Now she had to report to HQ again. It was late afternoon, she could be sleeping or recovering her magic right now...

The aide showed her in. She realized she couldn't remember his name, she just adressed him by his rank. Her concentration was slipping. But even then, the General looked worse than she felt. He looked up when the door fell shut behind her and she saluted. Had he slept in the past two days? He looked exactly like last time, he even stood in the same place. He took off his officer’s cap and sat down on a chair behind him, sighing.

“How did your missions go?” he asked, not bothering with a greeting as always. “We were successful.” Yevdokia responded. “We destroyed 15 or 16 trucks and any buildings that still stood. I estimate we also killed 25-30 enemy soldiers, it’s sometimes difficult to tell.” He was silent for a long minute. “How much du you trust your night-vision?” He finally asked. Yevdokia was a bit surprised by the question, but shrugged. “Everything it lit like in a permanent cloudy dusk. You can’t see colours, but enough details to identify most things as big as a human. Of course, the faster you fly the more difficult it gets.”

Zhukov considered this silently for another minute. Yevdokia wondered if the easy to anger man she first met was just for show, and this was his true personality. He finally stood up again and waved her to the map, putting the cap on his head again. Two lines were drawn across the land north of Stalingrad. They almost touched west of the Village of Orlovka and ran north and west from there. “The Germans try to reach the Volga to the north and south of the city. This whole area here,” He indicated the space behind what seemed to be the German line, “is held by the enemy. I don’t yet know their new supply-lines, so I’ll give you free reign for the next three days. Fly at night, preferably after midnight, and see that no German sleeps. You see an enemy position you bomb it. You see a house that’s not destroyed already, bomb it. Deny them everything you can!” His voice again held some of his former anger, but it wasn’t directed at her. “Sleep, supplies, shelter, security; the invader will forget the meaning of those words! They will be stopped here! We will defend the Motherland!” He looked at her, determined now. “You'll make between five and ten runs per night, depending on how many targets you see. The Germans likely have fighters operating at night, be warned. You’ll get a copy of this map and the newest reports at around 8:30pm each day. Take great care not to hit our soldiers! Questions?”

Yevdokia was stunned now. He gave her free reign just like that? How was she supposed to handle an assignment like that? What if she made the wrong call, or one of those fighters spotted them? They couldn’t shoot down a plane! And the front was advancing towards Kamenyy, did the General not want to evacuate them? All those thoughts shot through her head, but she said nothing. Zhukov knew how to use them best, and she trusted him. The defence of Moscow had been dire too in the beginning, and he made sure to win that battle. “No, thank you General. We won’t disappoint you.” She said and saluted. He seemed pleased at that and dismissed her.

But that nagging feeling remained and only got stronger once she got her maps and apparated back. Suddenly, she had so much more responsibility than to just fly from A to B. She breathed faster. How was she supposed to handle that, working all by herself. Nobody even talked with her beyond ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’. Maybe Marina would help her? She was second-in-command but she had grown distant. Yevdokia was in the shed now. Khiuaz, Polina, Serafima and Marina sat at the table, having an animated discussion. They immediately stopped talking and looked at her upon her entering. Yevdokia stopped. Had they been talking about her? She met the eyes of each of them and they all looked away. Tears welled up in her eyes. She felt betrayed. Without another word she stormed past them to her room, slamming the door shut.

She threw the maps away from her, sliding down to the floor, her back against the door. Silent tears fell on her uniform. Why did she deserve this? Why did it always end up being her in charge of everything. It had been like this at school, and now it was the same again. Everybody looking at her for leadership, how was she supposed to know? How did other do it? How had they all grown so distant...

She closed her eyes. How was she supposed to fight and protect her family like this? What would they think? She would never be able to tell them, to even see them again, no matter how the war ended. Quitting also wasn’t an option, where could she even go? Which country would have her?

She lied down on the floor, curling up to a sad heap. She just felt so tired. Tears stung in her eyes again. She cast a silencing spell on her door. The others shouldn’t hear or, worse, find her like that. Then the tears came again...

  
\----------

  
“Yevdokia? Are you in there?” Natalya knocked again. They had a plan and needed her. Khiuaz’ explanation, supported with comments by Sofiya, made surprisingly a lot of sense. She won the other Night Witches over quickly, too. But their commander seemed sadder than usual upon returning from HQ, and without her they couldn’t start. Even a strangely sober Sergey supported them.

No answer came from the room. “Please open the door, Yevdokia.” Natalya said pleadingly. “We have to talk, you and us all.” Still silence. She sighed and tried the door-handle. Surprisingly it opened. She looked into the room and saw her friend lying on the floor, back turned to the door, legs tucked to her chest. “Yevdokia!” She said, concern and panic in her voice, “Are you alright? Can you hear me?” With three steps she was next to her friend and knelt down. At her touch her friend startled and looked at her. “Tali, what are you doing here? Is it mission-time?” She asked. Natalya was even more concerned. She had clearly been crying, her eyes red and voice hoarse.

“No, it’s just before suset. Didn’t you hear me knocking? And why have you been crying? Are you sure you’re alright?” – “Must’ve forgotten the silence charm.” Her friend muttered, “I’m ok, mission starts at 01:00am.” Yevdokia turned away from her.

Natalya wasn’t at all convinced. She grabbed one of her hands and turned her friend around, pulling to help her up. “Come on, stand up, the others are waiting. We need you to-“ – “Don’t touch me!” Yevdokia suddenly said, trying to get out of her grip. “You haven’t talked to me in three weeks and now you want to talk? You just want to get rid of me, don’t you? I saw you conspiring! You and the others!” The anger in her voice made Natalya withdraw her hand. What happened to her friend? They didn’t talk anymore, that was true, but this anger...

Suddenly it hit her. Nobody had really talked to Yevdokia. She yelled at them to follow her orders and vanished immediately after the mission, often not leaving her room until evening. She withdrew from them, but they were also to blame. Maybe she heard their grumblings about her? She felt sad for her friend now.

“Yevdokia, look at me please.” The other women hesitated, but still did. “Nobody, and I really mean nobody, wants to replace you. Flying all night for three weeks was hard on us all, I can understand why you feel so lonely.”- “So what? We all just do as we are told!” Yevdokia spat. Natalya sighed. “I... we... just want to help you. To help us all. Would you please come outside with me?” She pleaded. Now it was Yevdokia’s turn to sigh. “Alright, I’ll never have my peace otherwise.” She grumbled as she stood up.

Natalya led her out of the shack and into the thicket of the apparition-point. The common room, the ‘runway’ and even the radio were deserted. “Where are all the others?” Yevdokia asked nervously. “Don’t worry,” Natalya answered, “They’re not far, just inside the bushes.”

Natalya marvelled at the sight before her. When she left to get Yevdokia she didn’t think they’d finish before she returned, but they had. Two concentric circles were drawn on the ground, carefully inscribed runes in the space between them. In the middle stood a conjured pillar, a silver knife placed at its top. The sun was setting now and the runes glowed in the evening light. Ten witches, one wizard and one Muggle, who looked very confused and out-of-place, stood along the outer circle, looking expectantly at them.

Yevdokia beside her was just as astonished, though not as speechless. “This... looks just like the Room of Oaths, only outside.” She said with awe. “What are you planning?” She asked, suspicion in her voice.

Khiuaz raised her hands. “Relax, Yevdokia. Everything will be explained.” She walked over to them, careful not to step on the circles. “We all noticed how tired and... distant we all became over the last weeks, haven’t we?” She paused. Yevdokia nooded slowly at her to continue. “It didn’t really make sense to me and I just saw it as exhaustion and war-weariness but some days ago it hit me.” She smiled at Sofiya, who quickly looked away, before continuing. “It was something Sofiya had said actually. ‘Things were better before the Ministry excommunicated us,’ Sofiya said to me. Of course things were better, but there was a deeper meaning.” She began pacing as she explained, looking more like a professor than a Night Witch. “It’s the magical connection we all share. We all feel different, better, when surrounded by magic like at Durmstrang or in Magical Moscow. We also felt more connected because of the blood oath we all took together. The Ministry, when dropping us like a discarded toy, must’ve also severed the magical connection we share to this land and it’s magical being. If they did it deliberately I don't know, but I very much doubt that. I don’t know if anyone understands it perfectly, but this is really old magic. In those old tales, don’t the exiled die quickly after being expelled? Don’t they feel different in a foreign land and anxious to go home? But also on a deeper level?” She looked at Yevdokia.

Natalya could see her think. When she first heard Khiuaz’ theory she, too, was sceptical but also didn’t really have a better explanation. Yevdokia just nooded again, clearly too deep in thought to talk.

Khiuaz continued, “We all are exhausted, but we really shouldn’t be that tired. We also flew long hours during training and didn’t feel half as bad as we do now. We haven’t lost our magic, since we didn’t break our oath, but something is weakening us.” She looked triumphantly at her commander. “The lack of community, of belonging is sapping our magic! Think about it, don’t you feel yourself becoming distant from us? We all are drifting apart! Your magic needs a sense of belonging, a sense of ‘home’!” She gestured behind her at the circle and the pillar. “And I think I might have a solution!”

Yevdokia looked at her confusedly before her eyes widened in realization. Natalya couldn’t fault her for being surprised. It was a strange theory, as nobody completely understood how such ancient magic principles worked, but it seemed sound. They had somewhat of a concept of how this could work, and in their discussions could find no fault in the concept. Sergey, who had had access to better books at school, didn’t say much, but he agreed that Khiuaz might be right.

She was so lost in her thoughts she almost missed Yevdokia’s words. “You can’t mean... another oath? What would we even swear upon? And to what end?” She was sceptical, but Khiuaz just smiled. “We swear upon ourselves of course; upon the Night Witches! To protect the country we grew up in. To protect its people, wizard or Muggle, from harm in this war. We were expelled from the Russian community, so we make our own! We’ll find strength together! Help one another again, be true friends again!” She paused dramatically and Natalya smirked. Khiuaz could have been a good theatre-actor. The woman continued, "We will fight and win. Just fight and win. We'll have each other and that's the only thing that counts! Together, we are strong enough to survive this! Fuck the Ministry, and fuck the Germans! We will show them all that some Witches cared in this damn war, that we didn't forsake our duty to our fellow men and women!"

It certainly is a nice speech, Natalya thought, but will it work in convincing the commander? Will this even work when we all agree? Every eye was on Yevdokia.

The clearing was silent, the only noise the soft rustling of the leaves by the wind. Then she saw Yevdokia smile. “It’s worth a try, especially if all of you agree.” The relief at her answer could almost be physically felt. Every witch stood a bit more relaxed, Sergey nodded and Wladimir still looked confused, but smiled too. Natalya took her place in the circle as her commander was led to the pillar by Khiuaz.

“What words have you chosen, Khiuaz?” Yevdokia asked. The other women gave her a piece of parchment. They all worked out the oath together, and speaking the words, even to explain them, would begin the ceremony. After reading the parchment Yevdokia handed it back, nodding. “I couldn’t have done it better, Khiuaz. Are you all sure you want to take a blood oath? Even you, Sergey?” She asked, looking at each in turn. All nodded. When she came to Wladimir he just shrugged. “Ms. Bershanskaya, I’m under orders to help you. I don’t really understand everything that’s going on here, but I have to stay with you until the end.” Every head turned to him. “Not… Not that I don’t want to be here, I didn’t want it to sound like that.” He added quickly, raising his hands, “it’s just… It seems like a lot of politics and I’d rather just do my job here, so…” He looked around, searching, “I’ll just… stand over there…” He left the circle to stand under a tree, looking warily at them.

“Everybody ready?” Yevdokia asked for the final time, obviously deciding to deal with Wladimir’s comments after the ritual. Natalya felt the magic in the air, the circle recognized their desire to swear the oath. She was ready, but still hoped that it would work. Yevdokia took the knife and sliced her right palm, the falling blood making the runes glow brighter. Thin fog rose from all the Witches and Sergey, the wind had suddenly stopped. It drifted towards Yevdokia.

“I, Yevdokia Davidovka Bershanskaya, born in Stavropol, 6th February 1917, swear before my comrades to do all that is required of me to win the war. I will fight to protect the innocent and weak, be they Witch, Wizard, or Muggle. I will do whatever is necessary to the aid the Muggle army in their fight, and I will not rest until the enemy is destroyed. I swear to keep my fellow Witches, Wizards and Muggles in this unit safe, as they will do for me. This I swear, before my comrades and friends. May magic itself strike me down, should I forsake my oath.”

The faint fog began to envelop her as she began speaking. Upon finishing the oath it glowed blood-red for a moment before dissipating. She looked at her hand and the cut was healed, the blood on the earth had vanished. For the first time in weeks she showed a genuine smile, and her friends couldn’t help but join. The magic of the land couldn't accept her oath, but her friends could and did.

One after another swore, a new oath that bound them together. They were exiles, but they didn’t have to be alone. The magic of the land had forsaken them, but together they would endure. The looks of exhaustion faded, the subtle feeling of belonging, that you only felt when it was missing, returned. Even if the world discarded them, if their own Ministry expelled them, they had each other. And they would show them what they could do.

Yevdokia cleared her throat, as one they all turned towards her. “Since we’re all together, here are our orders for tonight.” Her smile didn’t waver, and Natalya knew there would be no yelling today, no matter the orders. “For the next three days General Zhukov has given me, us, free reign. We are to bomb every German target in a certain area as we see fit.”

Natalya smiled. She looked around and saw looks of agreement. It may have been a trick of the light, but there also was a hungry gleam in some eyes.

A cheer went up, even Wladimir joining in, and a burden that nobody knew they were carrying was lifted from their shoulders...

\----------

End Note: I know that events in this chaper likely feel rushed to you, and that's because I can't just describe my whole headcannon, otherwise we'd need 3 more chapters before the Battle of Stalingrad even "officially" begins. But overall I'm still happy with this one. If you're not, please tell me so I can improve pacing and/or writing.


	7. Pushing on and on, their brooms are going strong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Blood; A quiet stroll with a friend; Summer ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: Bit of a shorter chapter this time, and more character development, but August has finally ended and things will get a lot worse before 19th November. In other news, I got a new Kudo from a guest; thank you, kind soul. Also 100 HITS YAY!!! Lastly, since I don't want to describe every day in detail (ok, I'd totally do, but it would get boring quickly) I'll think about pacing a bit this week. Otherwise it'll take me 500.000 words until Berlin.

Chapter 7 - Pushing on and on, their brooms are going strong

TW: Descriptions of injury and gore, though not too detailed.

Dark clouds hung in the sky. A strong wind blew from the north. In the distance the city was still burning, black smoke heavy above the flames, fanned by the wind, grey clouds weakly reflecting the flames. Artillery fire could be heard sporadically, the clouds on the horizon briefly reflecting the muzzle flashes. Six brooms flew silently through the night, the witches sitting on them just as quiet, and determined.

Yevdokia looked behind her. The other brooms were in a perfect V-formation, unbothered by the elements. She turned and looked ahead. In the distance she saw the line of trenches the Germans breached yesterday. In a matter of minutes they would fly over enemy territory, on their second hunt. She smiled. The invader wouldn’t know what hit them.

Their first solo-hunt yesterday went well. Only four targets were spotted, all of them small defensive positions, but they annihilated them in every run. The ritual had worked and they felt more connected, and some swore their spells got more powerful. They still were dead tired upon returning though, but not nearly as angry or in a foul mood as they had been.

“All, spread out and look for targets!” She ordered, and her friends complied instantly. The V stretched into a line, about 50m between each broom. Heads turned, looking for valuable targets below. “There, ahead and to the left! Is that a campfire?” She heard Vera ask. Yes, there was a light in the distance, not three kilometres away. “All, fall in and follow me! We have our first target!” She ordered and the V nearly instantly reformed.

She now had a clear view of their target. Two, three fires burned in what used to be a fortified position. They wouldn't have been easily visible from the ground, but from up high they were as bright as a lighthouse. Craters riddled the surrounding area, evidence of an unsuccessful defence. They will all pay, she thought viciously.

“Cast on my command! Target the fires! The structures next!” Her orders were acknowledged. “Cast on my command!” Only seconds now, she could feel Natalya behind her tense up in anticipation. “Cast!”

Again the ground exploded, fireballs throwing debris and men alike through the cool night air. Only two casts and it already was over. She looked back; this time they wouldn’t need to assess the damage. What remained of the fortifications was gone, the campfires were scattered, the dry grass already catching fire. She chuckled viciously, enjoying the destruction, before she caught herself and cleaned her throat.

“Good hit, Night Witches! Follow my lead, no assessment this time!” Some women cheered, but were quickly silenced, the celebrations had to wait until they were back home again.

Suddenly the sky to their left lit up. All heads turned and scanned the area. The dull thunder of artillery rolled over them, carried by the wind. “New target! That battery! We turn on my command! Turn!” She ordered, the V turning smoothly.

She guessed the battery must be west of Orlovka and Vodstoy, and thus on German occupied ground. She smiled again, they had spotted a valuable target. They fired again and the Night Witched corrected their heading. They would pay for what they did to her people.

“Target the guns! Then any crates! Let’s help the defenders of Stalingrad! Cast on my command!” Nothing more needed to be said, they knew what they had to do. The battery came in sight, two groups of six guns, each group relatively tightly packed together. Her smile grew wider still, that was almost too easy.

“Ready! Wait… Wait… Cast!” Spells and shells alike exploded below them, the sound almost deafening them despite the wind. The first battery seemed to have been hit badly, but something was different this time. As soon as they were clear of the first battery and turning around to hit the second, lights went on, searching the sky. She frantically hoped they wouldn’t spot them as they approached. It was too late to abort now.

A bright light blinded her, her heart almost stopped, her stomach sank to the ground. “Break formation! Break formation!” She yelled. MGs fired below, the sound oddly grunting in her ears. Her googles had adapted to the light now, but she wished they hadn’t. Tracers whipped past her, silent but deadly. “High and fast! High and fast!” She yelled, pulling her broom up towards the clouds. She heard screaming coming from her ear-piece. She prayed it was just nerves, not Witches being hit by the gunfire. The AA fire seemed to intensify. Had she been hit and was this hell already?

Then she was clear of the firing arcs of the MGs. She picked up even more speed as she looked around. The witches were scattered, but on first glance everyone seemed to be on their broom. “Report! Everybody alright? I heard screaming!” - “Marina here! Assholes hit my leg!” - “Tatyana here! My left arm got hit!” Yevdokia’s heart sank. “Is it bad?” She asked, hoping nothing important got hit. Marina was the first to answer, “Stopped it with a charm, but I need to land soon.” - “The same here, I don’t think the bone was hit.”

She sighed in relief. “We return then, as fast as we can. If you two want us to land, just say so!” All acknowledged and the six brooms turned home.

Yevdokia reckoned they made record-time on their flight back to their base. As soon as they landed, all crowded around brooms 2 and 6. Marina was nearest to her, she all but ran to her friend and knelt next to her, cutting open her trouser leg with a spell. The wound didn’t seem too bad, a quick spell showed that the bone wasn’t injured and it didn’t bleed too bad thanks to the first-aid-charm. She cast the healing spell for flesh-wounds, putting all of her magical power into it. The wound closed, the bleeding stopped. She could see her friend gritting her teeth, feeling how flesh knit back together wasn’t pleasant. Yevdokia wasn’t a trained medi-witch, but she was content with her work, even if it would hurt for some days and a scar would remain.

“How is Tatyana?” She asked loudly, standing up. “She’s alright, the bullet thankfully only grazed her arm. I already healed her.” Valentina responded. A collective sigh of relief could be heard, Valentina was the best of them when it came to healing spells.

“What happened?” A new voice asked. Apparently Sergey had made his way over to her in all the commotion. “We hit our fist target, but when making the second run on our second target, we got shot at.” She said, turning towards him, “Thankfully Marina and Tatyana weren’t too badly injured.” - “That’s good to hear.” He replied, obviously relieved.

Yevdokia looked around. Groups had formed around the wounded, the Witches now relaxing. She, too, was glad that nothing more happened, but… The Germans were damn quick in reacting to their attack. Did they expect a nightly raid? Or was it just bad luck and they were veterans, used to such situations and acting quickly. She shrugged mentally. She couldn’t know the answer, but tonight they wouldn’t fly again. Tomorrow, they’d avoid targets of higher value and with better defence, such as artillery batteries, she resolved. They also needed to freshen up their healing spells, and some blood-replenishing potions and skele-grow wouldn’t hurt too. But where to get the supplies, now that they were expelled. Her good mood vanished, she’d need to think long and hard on how to keep the unit in fighting-shape, if they planned on getting wounded more often…

\----------

August was ending. The days were beginning to get noticeably shorter, and, although it was still warm, the heat of the summer was beginning to fade. There were more clouds in the sky, and it rained sometimes, the ground greedily drinking the water up. The distant booming of artillery, the endless vibrations of planes flying overhead, the near constant pillar of smoke to the south, all those things had become a part of everyday life faster than anybody would admit.

Wladimir opened his eyes, awoken by a pounding on his door. “Wladimir! It’s 5pm! Wake up!” A woman shouted. “I’m awake, I’m awake!” He answered. Trust the witches to wake him exactly to the second each day, he thought groggily. “Thanks for waking me!" – “My pleasure!” Came the answer. He swore he could hear the smirk in the woman’s voice. Ever since the strange ritual five days ago they seemed... less tired. He could still see the bags under their eyes, but their demeanour had changed. He could hear them joke with each other, their step now lighter, less angry glares at undeserving backs. Even the injuries two of them sustained didn’t dampen the spirits, and he was baffled at the ease with which they were healed. He decided he was fine with it, even when he didn’t really understand everything; magic of the land and oaths and all that; if it helped them heal it was good...

After stretching and putting on his uniform, helmet and rifle, he left his room and stepped out of the shed. There was protocol to observe, and without his equipment he felt oddly naked, even when he was told that the base was very secure. The day was cloudy, but thankfully no rain was in sight. Rain always made him sad. He took a deep breath of fresh air and walked to his radio. His shift didn’t start until sunset, but he insisted on getting up while there were still some hours of sunlight remaining. Ms. Gelman was sitting on the chair, talking to Ms. Stupina, both fiddling with the knobs of the field telephone. He felt his good mood evaporate, surely they had broken something.

“Ah, Wladimir. I was just about to go and get you.” Ms. Stupina greeted him. “There is something wrong with this machine, there is no sound when you pick up the receiver.” He sighed, “Let me take a look please.”

After only a minute he was certain: Somewhere the line had been cut, either by accident or sabotage, though he hoped it wasn’t the latter. He informed his superior and she, too, sighed, “Well... can we fix it somehow?” Valentina asked. “It’s nothing major, Ms. Stupina. I’ll grab my repair-kit and just walk along the line to find the damage. The line passes through Kamenyy and from there to Erzovka.” Wladimir sighed, “If the Army fell back to Kamenyy maybe those idiots damaged it, or their radioman wanted to set up a relay and failed. Otherwise it’s ten more kilometres to Erzovka...” he trailed off. Ms. Stupina looked thoughtful for a moment. “You’ll only have to walk until you find the damage, right?” She asked. “Yes. If, God willing, there is only one damaged part. Why?” He didn’t really see the merit of the question, but her face lit up. “Well, then why don’t you take Polina here with you? It’s her shift anyway. She can apparate you back here and you won’t have to walk so far. You’ll be back a lot quicker, and ideally in time when HQ sends its orders.” The other witch, Polina, didn’t look too excited about the plan, but a look from Ms. Stupina silenced what objections she might had. “Well...” Wladimir said, grabbing a satchel bag from under the table and his rifle, “Let’s go then. The sooner we mend the wire the better.” His time in the Army had given him what Senior Lieutenant Popov called ‘professional fatalism’. He knew what he had to do and wanted it to be over quickly. Ms. Gelman sighed as she got up from the chair. That’s a good omen, he thought bitterly...

They were halfway to Kamenyy and had found no fault so far. They walked in silence, the witch three steps behind him, and although the mood wasn’t oppressive, he would have preferred talking. Any fault they’d find would be pretty obvious, so it wasn’t like they had to concentrate, and the steppe made for easy going.

“Have you had a chance to start reading my book yet?” He asked, deciding to take the initiative and turning his head back. “Well?” He tried again when the witch didn’t answer. She looked up at his remark. “Huh? Sorry, I wasn’t listening.” – “Err... I was asking if you’ve started to read the book that I loaned you.” He tried again, looking back at the ground and the wire. “Oh, yes. I’ve only read the first two chapters, but it really isn’t all that difficult to understand. It’s interesting reading about religion and such, like how it was before the revolution.” Ms. Gelman answered thoughtfully. “You’re not a religious person?” He asked, curious as to how witches would view the subject. “Well... My parents went to the Synagogue with me, and I read most of the Torah if you mean that but... After I started to attend Durm- I mean the magical school, it kind of... All of religion somehow lost its fascination.”

He stopped and turned around. She was Jewish?! He suddenly understood her desire to fight a lot better, even considering how bad her people had been treated under the Czar. His silence must have been misunderstood, because the witch looked at him nervously and started to fidget. “I didn’t mean to insult your or my parents’ beliefs. It’s just, when you can do magic, religion is really not that special. Take the Golem of Chelm for example.” Wladimir guessed his ignorance on this topic showed on his face, as the woman sighed and explained. “It’s a being made of clay, animated by a kabbalistic ritual to do as it is ordered. As a child the story seemed like magic to me, but when I was at school I actually learned how to animate inanimate objects and... It takes away the fascination, I guess. Every fourth-grader could make a better Golem than Rabbi Eliyahu.” She shrugged and started to walk again.

Wladimir fell in step besides her. An animated clay-man!? But now that he had a witch talking about the topic, maybe he could get a deeper glimpse into their mysterious world. “I can see how that could happen. I bet you could turn water into wine as well?” He asked jokingly. Ms. Gelman stayed serious and said, “That’s a spell you learn in your second year. It’s also tradition to drink every drop of the result of your very first spell, no matter the contents. I was fortunate that mine only turned into vinegar. Of course, if I had a family to inform me of that tradition, such as the Nobles have, I could have practiced before the lesson.” – “Oh...” Was all he could answer.

They walked in silence for some more time. This time, the witch started talking. “I hope I didn’t insult you? While there might be some here and there, I have never heard of a religious witch or wizard. At least not in the normal sense. The abstract concept of magic could be counted as a religion I guess, but not in the normal sense of the word. There is no church or temple to go to and pray to magic. Maybe some of the old sites, before Christianity came, could be considered sacred places. I learned in school that Irminsul in Germany is still in use. Also the temple of Perun in the woods near Wolchow, up north near Leningrad. I can’t really say more, I’m not one of the ‘Old Believers’, as they call themselves. You should ask Sergey, he's a Noble. Or at least was.” – “You didn’t insult me, it’s just a lot to think about. To be honest, I never really believed all those stories about the miracles Jesus performed. But, working with real witches, I can see how such a thing could be really true and it... it really confuses me.” Ms. Gelman just chuckled, “Before we went into secrecy, a lot of witches and wizards worked more openly. Maybe some stuff they did survived the times and passed into legend? The idea that we ride brooms certainly has survived, why not a wizard who wanted some wine instead of water?”

Wladimir was again silent. Was Jesus, the man his parents still prayed to, a wizard? Could he even believe anything he was told? It made his head spin, he would have to think about it later, when he was alone. There were a million more questions he had, now that he had glimpsed into another world. Why brooms? Could he become a wizard? Was there anything magic couldn’t do? Did St. George actually slay a dragon? But the village was near, both only now realizing it, having been lost in their thoughts. There also was a lot of activity, so his questions would have to wait.

Kamenyy had been occupied by soldiers of the Red Army. There was a lot of hustle and bustle, people digging trenches, carrying MGs into position, laying barbed wire... The front seemed to almost have reached them. A party of soldiers filling sandbags spotted them, and one ran towards them. He stopped maybe ten metres before them, his weapon pointing to the ground, but ready to aim at a moment’s notice.

“Who are you and what do you want here?” He asked. Wladimir looked at Ms. Gelman, hoping she would answer, but she just looked at him, unsure what to do. He sighed, why was it always him...

“I’m Junior Sergeant Kolosow, this here is Junior Lieutenant Gelman, 588th Night Bomber Regiment.” – “I’ll have to ask for proof.” The soldier responded, holding out his hand but not stepping closer. Wladimir threw a desperate look at the witch, hoping she had her papers with her. This time she seemed to understand, grabbed them from her pocket and handed them to the soldier. He looked them over for a minute before handing them back and saluted. “Comrade Junior Lieutenant, I’m sorry for the inconvenience. We have no reports of you coming through here.” – “It’s ok,” She responded, “I’m just here with Wladimir to check the telephone.” She looked at him. Wladimir hoped his cringing wasn’t noticeable. First she referred to him by his first name, then she didn’t really know their mission?! “We’re checking the field telephone wire from our base. It got damaged somewhere, do you have a radioman here?” No choice now but to press on, he thought. He would have to talk with Ms. Bershanskaya about the conduct of her unit, he added. “Yes, I’ll take you there.” The soldier saluted again and walked back into the village...

The radioman was adamant that the wire hadn’t been damaged here, but, after they reported to the Captain commanding the soldiers, he allowed them graciously to continue their search for the damage. Wladimir couldn’t help but smile when he found it, a soldier had separated the wire while digging a trench. Of course, not one of the men present admitted such fault, but at least the radioman would eat his words, he thought with a smile as he bent down to mend the wire. The witch knelt next to him, watching curiously. “It’s nothing special,” He said, very aware of her interest, “I’ll just have to cut the damaged parts off here and here... take my clamps out of my bag... if I can find them... now to unravel the copper wire...” He soon lost himself in his work, splicing a wire was something every radioman was expected to do in his sleep, but he couldn’t be sloppy. The artillery was louder here, the sounds of battle in the distance more intense. The sooner he was done here, the better...

“How do you know how all these... small wires there connect?” Ms. Gelman asked, startling him. “Ah... well... With a field repair such as this it’s not that difficult, the wire is fairly simple. You can picture a sort of-“

“INCOMING!” Someone yelled, and the world exploded into dust and noise. The shockwave of the first salvo knocked Wladimir and Polina down, dust raining down on them like rain. Fuck!, was all he could think, or maybe yell; the ringing in his ears nearly as loud as the explosions. He lay on his back and looked around. There would be other salvoes in seconds, and they wouldn’t survive a second one out in the open. To his left was a half-finished trench, empty save for some equipment. To his right the witch lay on her stomach, eyes open in panic. He swiftly rose to a crouch, grabbed her by the collar and threw himself with her in the trench just as the second salvo hit.

Both curled up against each other, shielding their heads with their hands, trying to present a small target. He felt the ground shake like a giant was walking through the village. Did the wizards have giants as well? A fine layer of dust coated them now, making it hard to breathe.

If the second salvo was a giant, the third one was a titan. The ground quaked, all other sounds drowned out by the explosions. He could see that the witch had her mouth open. She was screaming not 50cm away from him and he couldn’t hear a thing. He thought about how happy he had been, being transferred to an aviation regiment. He was so happy that he would be out of the range of the German guns. He began to laugh, a desperate, maniacal sound he was sure, if he could have heard it.

The fourth and fifth salvos hit other parts of the village, and although he didn’t wish death on any on his comrades, he was glad it wasn’t him.

He cursed his thoughts when the sixth salvo hit. The house next to them got a direct hit, wooden splinters and glass now raining down on them as well as dust. He felt a large piece hit his helmet, making the ringing in his ears even louder, as the world went black for a second.

Then all was quiet. Five seconds, six, seven, eight...

He lifted his head above the rim of the trench. Soldiers everywhere were doing the same. Was it over? He looked at the witch. She was shaking, eyes still open in terror, but she stopped screaming; or at least her mouth was shut. Her face had some cuts by flying glass, and her uniform was ripped in places. He doubted he looked any better, but she didn’t seem badly injured. He reached out to her and realized his hand was shaking as well. After some shoves she seemed to snap back, looking around, feeling at her face. Her eyes grew wide again when she saw the blood on her hands, but Wladimir shook his head and tried to smile, hoping she would get the message.

He could hear a distant voice yelling something. Was another barrage coming? He instinctively hunkered down again, but nothing happened. The ringing slowly stopped; he could understand words now.

“- damn frontline! They only shoot one barrage!” - “Platoon leaders report!” – “Medic, Medic!”, other voices yelled. Others again didn’t shout anything coherent, they just screamed in pain. Wladimir slowly stood up. The village had been reduced to rubble, only one house remaining intact, by some miracle or, more likely, quirk of ballistics.

Ms. Gelman rose as well, more slowly, trying to control her shaking body. She failed and just sat down at the edge of the trench that likely saved them. Wladimir joined her on the opposite side. They looked at each other, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. Then they started laughing, happiness at being alive flooding through them. Suddenly a man stopped next to them. He had a torn Lieutenant’s uniform and a furious expression. “Stop laughing you fucking assholes! Men are dead! Make yourself useful! Carry the wounded!” Wladimir looked at him in shock, where did he come from all of a sudden? A quick side-glace told him that Ms. Gelman must have similar thoughts. “NOW, damn you!” The Lieutenant yelled. Both jumped up as he turned around and ran to another trench.

Their eyes met again, but this time a look of shame passed between them. They nodded at each other and ran towards the nearest screams.

A man was lying in a hole, his leg pierced by a wooden splinter. Wladimir thought he could see bits of bone around the wound. He ran to him and knelt down, speaking, or really shouting, calming words. Damn ringing, he thought again. At the other side Ms. Gelman knelt, looking like she was going to be sick. He hoped she could somehow swallow it back down, as he grabbed the soldier under his arm and gestured at her to do the same. Both heaved and carried the man to the street, looking around for the field hospital. They saw two men carrying a third on a stretcher further down the road. He pointed at them and the witch nodded. The street was littered with rubble and craters, the going wasn’t easy. They fell down once, losing their balance, and the scream of the wounded soldier as he hit his leg would haunt Wladimir for a long time.

They finally reached the field hospital, a vision of hell before them. Wounded men lying on the ground, thrashing in pain or being too still, white bandages stained red, green uniforms dark with blood. Men in aprons that used to be white hurrying around. Women in blood-spattered uniforms wrapping bandages around the wounded. Someone took the wounded soldier from them, another thrust a stretcher slick with blood into their arms and pointed to the village.

It would be a long, bloody evening. They didn’t feel like laughing anymore...

\----------

Marina was worried. The day had begun so well. Her leg didn't hurt anymore and she only missed one mission because of it anyway. The flying yesterday went off without problems or AA fire, and she was able to get six continuous hours of sleep. She had been outside, sitting with Natalya and talking about the beginnins of their unit when explosions could be heard and felt south of them. Her bad feeling grew much worse when Valentina told her that Wladimir and Polina had gone to Kamenyy to “check the wire”, whatever that was. Now she was pacing at the field telephone shack, growing more anxious by the minute. Yevdokia was still asleep, and she didn’t have the heart to wake her. They couldn’t do anything! Apparating into an artillery barrage wasn’t very wise, and what if the village was under attack? They’d be secure at the base, even if the Germans broke through, but for everyone outside the wards…

She looked at her watch. It was already well over an hour since the shelling, and still no sign. But no gunfire either. Were they wounded? Or did they miss the bombardment altogether? If there was no sign in the next 30 minutes, she would wake up Yevdokia and apparate to Kamenyy herself.

The others were nervous too. They did a better show of hiding it, or tried to distract themselves. Why did Valentina even allow them to leave without first talking to her or the commander? But, she reminded herself, how was anyone to know that the front was that near. She snorted. The daily report over the field telephone would have informed them, but since it wasn't working… It could drive the best people mad.

Suddenly there was a crack behind her. She flinched, thinking for the smallest part of a second that the Germans were shelling them, while turning around. She immediately felt calmer, recognizing Polina and Wladimir. Then she worried again. Their clothes were in disarray and torn, both smeared with blood. They had been in the barrage!

In five steps she was besides the two, who had fallen to the ground after appearing. She knelt down and cast a quick diagnosis-charm, but could only find shallow cuts. She breathed a sigh of relief, despite the haunted look in the eyes of the pair.

Wladimir saluted lying on his side and opened his mouth and shouted, “Junior Sergeant Kolosow reporting back. Village got shelled. Wire all shot to hell, relay-station too.” He made a grimace that could have been a smile. It didn’t alleviate her worries in the slightest. Now the other Witches were there as well, looking just as worried. Polina was being helped up by her friends. She looked unhurt, but her hands shook uncontrollably and her eyes stared into the distance. Someone shook her, and she snapped back, looking around for a moment before relaxing. “Told you I could still get us back.” She yelled at Wladimir, showing a slight smile. “What?” - “I told you I could do it!” - “Sorry for doubting you!” They were less than three metres apart but still yelled at each other. Marina admitted it was kind of funny. She immediately chastised herself for the thought. Her friends just survived artillery fire, she should be worried about them.

Wladimir reached out his hand for her to help him up. “Are you really alright? What happened?” She asked helping him up, but he just looked at her and pointed at his ears. She repeated the question much louder, and he nodded, “Yes, nothing major. Helmet got a dent, though.” He pointed at his head. The dent was the size of an apple, the paint flaking off in places. Marina wondered what could to such a thing. Wladimir continued though, “Germans shelled the village. I was repairing the wire next to a trench when it hit us. Saved our lives. After that we were ordered to carry the wounded to the field hospital. No attack, though.” He suddenly swayed, and she just managed to grab him before he fell down. “Thanks, Miss...” He yelled into her ear, trailing off, frowning. He shook his head and continued, “Communications are cut for the time being. We need a completely new wire. Not through Kamenyy, if we can manage.” He swallowed hard. “I should lie down for a bit I think.”

Marina looked around, meeting the gazes of Natalya and Vera. “Carry him to his bed, would you? Have Valentina look at both of them. And wake up Yevdokia.” She handed Wladimir over, who was mumbling about being transferred or something. She turned to Polina and saw her leaning against Sofiya’s chest, switching between chuckling and sobbing.

Marina sighed and looked around for inspiration as for what to do next. She would have given a lot of her belongings for some calming draughts. She saw Sergey walking over to her, motioning with his head to talk away from the group. She nodded and followed him, hoping he had a plan. “We should really have gotten some potions while we still had the Ministry’s support.” He remarked bitterly. “Do you just want to complain or do you have a solution?” She asked, more harshly than intended. He didn’t look hurt though, or at least didn’t show it. “I’ll try to source something in the future. But for now, there’s a ritual that should have the same effects. The ingrediants of a potion can be administered via ritual, for the same effect as the potion would have.” - “How do you know about that?” She asked. Was he one of those wizards that did everything with an antiquated ritual? She certainly hadn’t ever seen him casting a single spell. Sergey just shrugged, “It was the pet project of a Noble wizard some centuries ago. Some simple potions can be done with the ritual, provided you have all the ingredients or acceptable substitutes. It was purely academic at the time, since the potions are so cheap, but we had the book in our family library and it’s quite useful.” He looked sad for a moment, presumably at the reminder of what he lost. Marina felt for him, but at the same time was intrigued. Of course, being a Noble you had all the time you needed to research and invent useless stuff…

She nodded, “If you could do it, that would be nice of you. I’ll talk to Yevdokia about establishing a potions-lab. Do you need help?” He shook his head, “Go and help your friend, I’ll take one of the other Witches. There should be enough flowers around here for it to work.” Marina nodded and walked back to Polina. Her friend was holding onto Sofiya as if she would die if she ever let go. Sofiya just rocked her gently, stroking her hair, soothing her with words she likely wouldn’t be able to hear.

Marina also saw Yevdokia running towards them. It would take a lot of time to sort all this out, she thought…

\----------

The HQ was a scene of pure chaos. Men were running around, shouting orders, looking for someone, passing hastily written notes. Yevdokia felt an odd sense of calm as she walked towards the war-room. She wasn’t responsible for organizing the army and the defence, and she thanked Magic for that. Their orders to hunt the enemy as they saw fit had been extended, and Polina and Wladimir had recovered after Sergey's strange ritual, a good night's sleep and a healing spell to their eardrums. Both were still excused from flying and Sofiya, Polina's pilot, had taken over for Wladimir during his shift. An aide who looked like he hadn’t slept since July ripped her from her thoughts and ushered her into the war-room.

The General of the Army was again brooding over some maps, talking to three important looking officers. He looked up when she entered and pointed her to some chairs. Yevdokia saluted and sat down, too far away to understand more than fragments of the conversation. She gathered that the men commanded infantry units and that some counterattack was planned, but nothing more. After some long minutes the men saluted and left, sparing her not more than a glance. The General gestured at the map and she stood up and walked to the table.

As always he wasted no time in getting started, “Did you not get my orders or did you choose to ignore them?” He asked, voice dripping with anger. “Ah, well... Our field telephone, or rather the wire, got damaged two days ago and we need to lay a new one. The old one ran through Kamenyy and got destroyed in the shelling there.” Yevdokia replied nervously. Zhukov sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Well, you couldn’t have helped me during the day anyway. The Germans reached the Volga north of the city today, south of Vinnovka here. A new defensive line was prepared from Erzovka to Kamenyy and from there to the north-east. You’re north of Kamenyy, yes? You’ll stay there, I need you near the front. This line will hold.” Yevdokia was not reassured. How many lines had the Germans broken through in the past month? She opened her mouth to reply but an angry look from Zhukov made her reconsider. “You’ll obey my orders, otherwise you’ll suffer the consequences. Now, give me a brief report.” – “Yes, General. The past days were a success, we flew up to seven missions a night, targeting small groups of enemies. On the second night we attacked two artillery batteries and got shot at. Two Witches were wounded, but not too seriously. We got the first one though.” The General nodded after receiving her report.

“You seem to have done a good job. Your orders still remain in effect for the time being, fly as much as you can and hit every target that presents itself. Get an updated map from an aide and focus on the area north of Stalingrad. Also get a requisition form for a new wire. Expect some special missions in the future, once you have communications again. Dismissed.” With that Yevdokia was done at HQ. She saluted and walked out of the war-room, the next group of officers already waiting outside.

Getting the map and forms took her almost two hours, the difficult part being that no one seemed to know who was responsible for such things. When she finally was finished she then had to report at the logistics depot at Dubowka. Having finally arrived there, she almost had to use the _imperius_ -curse to convince the officer to send a truck with the wire to the vicinity of their base. She didn’t want to enter Kamenyy if there was any other way, but apparently the drivers couldn’t be trusted to drive their big trucks across the steppe, following not a map but her instructions.

When she finally had unloaded the crates and sent the driver on his way, she sat down and sighed, running fingers through her hair. Who could have known things would be this difficult. She would send someone else to levitate the crates back, Yevdokia decided, she did enough today. But that could wait a bit, for now she ignored the distant sounds of battle and enjoyed the soft breeze. She yearned to fly again, and to make the Germans pay. If not for this damn war they started, she could be at home, spending time with her family...

\----------

End Note: The Germans in this fic don’t advance as far north of Stalingrad as they did historically. Their northernmost point would have been Erzovka and not Vinnovka, but that’s a difference of 5km and I want the Night Witches to stay near Kamenyy, so don’t @ me for that minor divergence. Also consider that, for someone growing up in the 20s and 30s in rural Russia and spending the better part of the year away from home at a magical school, a telephone would be something strange and complicated.


	8. Aviation, deviation - Undetected, stealth perfected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> September snow; An old Datcha; A Surprise; A special mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: Sorry for the delay on this chapter, I had a bit of the 'writer's block' and thinking about pacing took a lot of more time. As a peace offering, take the newest addition to the Night Witches in this chapter. The next one won't take so long, at least if I can help it. Also another Kudo, thanks for that!
> 
> And a very special ‘Hello’ to Kathi!

Chapter 8 - Aviation, deviation - Undetected, stealth perfected

September came and brought cold winds and heavy clouds. The wind had turned south and ashes fell softly down to earth, grey like old snow. The trees and grass looked sick and grey, covered in ashes, like waiting for a cleansing rain to wash it all away. Three witches stood at the edge of the base, their gazes turned south. Marina broke from her stare to look at her two friends. Sofiya had brought her enchanted binoculars along and was watching the sky with a grimace. The sky was black with smoke and planes, the Luftwaffe bombing the city again, in broad daylight, apparently not fearing AA or interceptors. Khiuaz stood next to her, so close they almost touched. They seemed to become closer since their encounter with the downed pilot, Marina thought. Not that it was a bad thing, but the reason for their newfound friendship should have been a happier one. She briefly thought of herself, lying on the ground, blood pooling around her, broom broken in half, her caster Olga beside her... No, she should focus on other things.

“So, Miss Knows-every-plane? What can you see?” She asked, her words breaking the silence like a gunshot. Sofiya cringed, and both turned to glare at her. “You know I’m jumpy, Marina!” Sofiya complained. Marina only shrugged, and her friend sighed and continued, “I think those might be He-111s. It’s too far to be certain, but there’s a lot of them.” – “At this point I wonder if there is even a single wall still standing in Stalingrad. They’ve been flying day and night for over two weeks now.” Khiuaz added.

Marina thought on that. The fires must be bad, since the wind blew the ashes all the way to Kamenyy. She wondered how the civilians fared in the city, if there even were any left. She shuddered, her second-hand description of artillery-fire was enough for her to know she didn’t envy anyone serving on the front. But what if the Germans somehow broke through the current line and came to their base? Or somehow spotted them?

At the sound of someone cleaning their throat, Sofiya whipped around, right hand flying towards her wand. Khiuaz and Marina turned around more slowly, knowing there couldn’t be any danger. Sergey was standing there, clothes clean and beard cut, raising his hands at the raised wand. “Calm down please, Ms. Ozer-... Sofiya. I mean no harm.” – “What do you want?” Marina asked, trying to keep her voice neutral. They might all have taken the same oath, but she still didn’t trust him fully. Still, that was no reason to not be polite, especially since he, too, seemed more friendly.

“Regarding our conversation some days ago, I might have a solution.” Sergey said, lowering his hands, turning towards Marina, “It might be a bit risky, but if we can pull it off, we’ll have a cauldron and potion ingredients. I’ll need your help, however.” His lips curved into a small, mischievous smile at his next words. “How good are you in curse-breaking and warding?”

The three Witches looked at each other, silent questions racing between their eyes. After a moment of shrugs and heads shaking, Marina sighed. They all knew she was the best of them in wards, having secured their bases. And being good in warding meant one was also good in curse-breaking... She didn’t know what he planned, but something seemed odd about him. He was almost giddy, at least according to his own standards. Had he ever smiled like that before? Or at all?

“I guess I am.” She said, turning to him again, “But I’m no expert by any means. There were so many books in the library about the subject, but _someone_ restricted access to Commoners.” Anger made its way into her words, and she thought Sergey looked suitably embarrassed, but he quickly looked up again, smile back in place, “It wasn’t my decision to make, Ms.- Marina. But I’m sure you’ll do fine. Most Nobles don’t read those books anyway, so it evens out.” – “What’s your plan?” Sofiya interrupted them, looking warily between them.

Sergey just chuckled before he continued, “When I was... drinking I think I remember saying something like ‘Fuck the Nobles’ and, having thought about it these past nights, I see no reason to regret that statement. Have anyone of you ever been to Astrachan?” He asked, looking at them. Marina was taken aback. What did the city far south of them at the Caspian Sea have to do with anything? The others must be confused as well, she thought, as Sergey sighed and started to explain, “It’s beautiful city, old and rich with history. Also, there are several Datchas of Noble Families in the surrounding countryside. It was popular as a summer-retreat decades ago, and some families still go there.” – “You want to rob them?!” Sofiya interrupted him, looking shocked at the suggestion. Sergey just shrugged, “It’s not like we’re stealing family heirlooms, just a silver-lined cauldron and some supplies. We need it more than they do. Besides, if they want to cave in to the Germans by excommunicating us and stripping me of my title, I’d say they deserve some payback, however minor.”

Marina couldn’t help but show a small smile of herself at his words. Who would have thought the Noble Sergey Vladislav Uvarov would turn on his peers? There was something poetic about it. “I’ll help you.” She said. Sofiya immediately turned to her, “Marina! You can’t just break into their homes. Think of all the curses, the wards! What if you’re caught?! We’re only just tolerated as it is.” But Marina only kept on smiling. What did she care about some nobleman’s Datcha? They had been harassing her since she was eleven years old, why not get a tiny sliver of payback? Also Sergey was right, people certainly wouldn’t starve if they took only what they needed. She raised her hands to calm down her friend, “It’ll be ok, Sofiya. I’m the best of us at warding and curse-breaking and Sergey seems to know what we can expect. Plus we really do need some potions, especially with winter coming. I don’t see any other way but stealing, you know that transmuted cauldrons are dangerous.”

Sofiya looked like she was about to argue back, but Sergey was faster, “Well, then. No time like the present. I don’t know exactly, where the Datcha I have in mind is, but it will be fairly easy to find. Let’s go, Marina.” He said, still smiling. It would certainly be an interesting afternoon.

\----------

The plan had sounded so good in his head, Sergey thought. Apparate to the Village of Yamantsug and go almost straight north from there. Go over the creek and then east for about 2km and you should arrive at the gates. But either the creek had shifted its bed and bridges in the last decades or the house had been moved. All he could do was stand under the tree that should be next to the gates and scratch his head.

“Are you sure you thought this one through?” He heard Marina ask, voice dripping with glee. He sighed. Just his luck that he had boasted to rob his fellow Nobles, only to get lost in the steppe hated so much. “If you let me think for a minute, I’m sure I’ll get the right direction.” He said coldly without turning around. He could hear her chuckle and then walking away.

He sighed again. The Datcha belonged to his Uncle Grigory Uvarov-Garakanidze. He had spent three summer there, back when he was still at Durmstrang. It was nice enough, lots of time to practice spells and play Quidditch, but the woman his Uncle had married always tried to ruin his fun. Right now they would hopefully be in their mansion in the Kaukasus mountains, which would make the Datcha an easy target. Plus, the shared blood and close kinship should help with the wards. If only he could find it...

A high-pitched scream had him turning around, wand drawn, reflexively assuming his duelling-stance. His eyes darted around, but there was no movement other caused by the gently breeze, and no more sounds. He cautiously walked into the direction he thought Marina might have taken, ready for any eventual ambush. Did someone expect them? But who knew they were in this area? Did she trigger some old wards?

He rounded some dense shrubs and almost wished there had been an ambush. Marina was kneeling on the ground, trying to coax a furry black ball out from under some bushes. The creature looked like a normal cat, but as if it felt his gaze it looked up and into his eyes. They were bright green, like emeralds... Or the _Avada Kedavra_. There was an intelligence behind them, too. He could feel it. Kneazle! Sergey thought, how by Koshei’s balls did a Kneazle get here?! If it sensed his confusion it didn’t show any reaction but went back to glaring at Marina. She, also having sensed his presence, looked up at him and smiled. “Sergey, look who I found hiding in the bushes! Isn’t he cute?” He could only open and close his mouth. Of course, they went to steal potion supplies and found a kitten. He wanted to laugh. But a Kneazle meant wizards, so the Datcha couldn’t be too far. Maybe his Uncle got one for his wife? Or his children? Wait, did Uncle Grishka have children? He should have talked to him more often. Or at all...

After some minutes of watching her trying to get the creature out of there he finally found his voice again, “Ms. Raskowa, we have to leave. The Datcha can’t be far, the Kneazle must belong to my Uncle. I bet it’s through those trees over there. Let’s go.” – “But we can’t just leave him here, he's so young. Look, his fur hasn’t even begun to change.” – “Do you really want to carry this... creature around all day?” – “I bet he knows where the house is!” Marina turned to the Kneazle, “Come on, show us the way to Uncle Grigory’s Datcha!” The creature just looked at her confused and Sergey wanted to start laughing when it stood up and walked into the same direction he would have taken. He didn’t look at his companion, but he almost heard her smile.

Both hurried after the magical cat. After about five minutes they could see a roof behind hedges and low trees. Marina’s grin grew even wider, “I knew it, they are smart beings! Is that the Datcha we’re looking for?” – “Yes, it is.” Sergey grumbled. Outwitted by a damn kitten, he thought. “Now stay here, and don’t follow that creature. I’ll take care of the wards.”

The wards were dispelled quickly, a task Sergey could have done half asleep. But then again, nobody expected wizards to trespass here, only Muggles. Any other wizard would have had some trouble, but the shared blood really helped. He could have done this whole expedition alone...

Whatever relief or happiness they felt after the wards were dispelled and they entered through the gate died the very instant they set foot inside the property. The high grass was trampled down and brown with dried blood. The mangled corpses of three wolves lay around the yard. In the middle of them was a dead Kneazle, easily 1 meter tall at the shoulders. Blood trails led either to or from the grisly site, or maybe both. The Kneazle they’d found stood next to the large one, apparently his mother, head hung low as if in mourning.

Sergey would be the last to admit that he was emotional, after all a proper Noble didn’t display such lowly emotions. But the sight hit him right in the heart and he felt tears in the corner of his eyes. Marina seemed to have no problems in that regard, she ran towards the kitten, tears running down her face. At her sudden approach the little ball of fur hissed, displaying tiny teeth and claws. Marina stopped dead, looking at Sergey with concern. He sighed. Had she forgotten her lessons? They were protective creatures, and this one was likely too young to understand how guarding a house worked, so it guarded its mother. What was left of her, anyway. Maybe it thought she was only sleeping... However, judging by the smell and the flies, the fight must have taken place at least three days ago.

“Sergey, we can’t leave him here like that.” Marina said through her tears. Sergey inhaled. He wanted to say no, wanted to say that it was risky, that maybe there was a tracking charm on the creature. That they couldn’t care for a kitten while fighting a war. That it would wander away, scaring the Muggle-soldiers and drawing attention to them. That sometimes nature was cruel, but it wasn’t their place to intervene. The mother obviously fought hard, likely against a pack of ten or more, and even took three with her. That no one actually knew how to care for a young Kneazle. “Stay here and watch him, I’ll look inside the house if there are some treats and a blanket.” He said instead.

He walked up to the wooden house. The porch was cleared of furniture, heavy drapes hung inside the windows, the whole gravel path leading up to the door needed some urgent care. The inside was coated in a layer of dust, apparently his Uncle chose to spend the summer elsewhere this year. There were, however, some new pictures on the wall, showing Grigory, his wife, what must be their two children and two adult Kneazles, all standing in front of the Datcha, smiling. That answers that, Sergey thought, the male mut have died too, fighting the wolves. Or they got him separately... No, he was here to look for some treats. He found a large bag in the kitchen, even some milk in the charmed ice-box. He took it outside and handed it to Marina, leaving her to deal with the situation. He was here for the supplies.

The potion lab was just as he remembered: in the cellar and small, but well stocked. It took him only five minutes to get everything. He shrunk the cauldron and filled the charmed potions-travel-bag with as much ingredients as he could. They’d only brew healing potions anyway, and most shared ingredients. No one was here during winter, so he could return if they needed anything else. He also grabbed a book of recipes, his Uncle had multiple copies after all, and some theory never hurt. After having grabbed a small fortune’s worth of supplies he quickly exited the Datcha.

Outside Marina had conjured a small cage and was trying to get the Kneazle to enter it. But although it looked hungrily at the saucer of milk inside of it, the kitten refused to enter. Instead it just stared at her with its too-intelligent eyes. Sergey seriously reconsidered his decision. Even a kitten could cause serious wounds, if angry enough. Her ripped sleeves were proof of that, but Marina didn’t seem bothered.

Marina looked behind her. He saw that her tears had dried, determination replacing sorrow on her face. “Ah, Sergey. Did you get everything?” – “Yes, it should last us quite some time.” – “Good, then help me getting this little devil into this cage.” – “Why don’t you just float it inside?” – “Don’t be stupid, I don’t want to upset him any more than I have to.”

Sergey sighed again. At this rate he feared it would become his major way of communicating. Marina, too, seemed to tire of the game. She floated the saucer out of the cage and set it down next to the Kneazle. After some minutes of glaring at them the hunger the kitten surely must feel seemed to have won, since it carefully approached and started to drink. The saucer was gone in record time and it looked at them almost questioningly. Marina slowly crawled forward on her hand and knees, and this time the creature didn’t hiss until she moved to touch it. Sergey watched in fascination as she poured some more milk and was then allowed to touch the kitten as it greedily drank. “I think he just doesn’t like cages.” She said softly, as not to disturb the small Kneazle’s drinking. Sergey wanted to sigh but this time he just nodded and kept his voice equally low, “If you want to take him along then you take him, I’ve got my hands full with the supplies. You should be able to apparate from here, I took the wards down.”

Marina nodded and crouched down further, lying on her stomach and being eye-to-eye with the kitten. “Hey there, little guy.” She started softly, “You have lost your mother and that’s sad. I have lost something too. All my friends have, even mean Uncle Sergey over there.” Sergey held back his remarks. He wasn’t mean and he certainly wasn’t this creature’s Uncle. Marina continued though, “You can’t stay here, little guy. There are wolves. And Muggles. And you are too small to be on your own. If you let me take you, I’ll make sure to take good care of you. You’ll be with friends, my friends. You’ll have plenty to eat and we’ll make sure to pet you every day. What do you say?”

No one knew how intelligent Kneazles really were, but Sergey still found their level of intellect creepy. The kitten looked up at Marina’s little speech with what could only be understanding in its eyes. After she finished it looked away, as if in thought. After a few moments the Kneazle stood up and walked back to its mom, touching her nose with his, before walking back to Marina and settling down on her arms. She stood up and smiled at Sergey, though he thought he could see more tears in her eyes. He cleared his throat, because this wasn’t making him sad, and said, “You apparate first, I’ll stay behind to put the wards back up again. I don’t want some Muggle to find this Datcha, despite everything.” Marina just nodded and disappeared with a soft _plopp._

Sergey sighed again, loudly this time. A Kneazle... Well, at least it didn’t get boring. He made to walk out of the gates and beyond the wards but stopped. Damn my soft heart, he thought, setting down the supplies he carried. He walked to a tree near the hedges, dug a hole and levitated the corpse of the female Kneazle down. On top of the fresh grave he laid a transfigured stone plate reading: “Female Kneazle, died protecting its litter from wolves. Found 4th September 1942. One survivor, now at a new and loving home.”

She deserved that much, he thought as he picked up the supplies again. She died to protect her young and one made it. He would honour that. Maybe it would give the children closure. Maybe it raised some questions, primarily how a wizard got into the property despite the wards. Maybe Uncle Grigory would deduce it was him, the news of his banishment must make up the better part of the gossip of this year. Maybe it would bite them in the ass. But if his Uncle returned it would be during the summer next year, and then he would hopefully be far away from here and the affair wouldn’t get any attention. Or maybe he would be just as dead as the Kneazle, food for the wolves, his struggle forgotten...

\----------

Wladimir awoke with a groan, the infernal pounding on his door startling him from his sleep. “Yes, I’m awake!” he shouted, the answer lost in another groan. Ever since the big wooden splinter had hit his helmet, the headache persisted. It was manageable when it was dark and quiet, but still distracting and keeping him from sleep. At least he didn’t lose his equilibrium anymore, that was nice. He also could remember the names of all the women again. Finally, whatever spell they’d done to him had fixed his hearing, for which he would be eternally grateful. Despite all that, he started and ended his days groaning.

There wasn’t much else to do anyway, Ms. Bershanskaya had ordered him to take it easy. He could convince them to at least start laying the new wire but Ms. Stupina insisted on attaching the wire herself and, much to the woman’s surprise, it didn’t work. Maybe someone further down the line either forgot to connect the wire to a relay or botched it, but Wladimir suspected the Witch messed up when connecting the wire. He wanted to go investigate, but they simply wouldn’t let him. So he spent his evenings and nights sitting in the dark, enjoying the cold air and solitude outside. He would be back behind his field telephone soon enough, no need to break his rhythm.

This late afternoon was no different, he got dressed, took his equipment and went to leave the shack. He saw all the witches standing around the big table, apparently playing a funny game, judging by the tone of their voices. It was definitely too loud for his headache, so he just left quietly.

The base outside was deserted, low clouds had formed during the day, promising rain. Damn. As he walked past his radio-set he stopped, a grin forming on his face. If they all were inside, he could work on getting it operational again, starting on repairing the messed up connection to the new wire. Luckily they’d left his tool-bag under the table where it belonged. He knelt down and soon lost himself in his work, taking great care to do it correctly.

He was so immersed in his thoughts that he only noticed the Witch standing behind him when she tapped his shoulder. He whirled around, losing his balance and falling on his butt, the rifle he went to grab now out of reach. The Witch, Polina, just smiled down at him. She seemed to feel temperature differently than him, since she had what could only be described as a massive black fur scarf around her neck. Exhaling deeply to calm himself, Wladimir stood up, his own smile creeping on his face. Of course, scaring the poor and recently extremely jumpy radio-engineer was always fun. When the scarf lifted its head and looked at him with emerald green eyes, he almost fell down again.

“Do you like our newest member?” Polina laughed, scratching the... cat between its massive ears, “Marina and Sergey found him while... fetching supplies. He’s a young Kneazle, yes you are, yes you are.” She continued, doubling her efforts at scratching the creature. It purred so deeply Wladimir wondered if there wasn’t a plane overhead, almost feeling the vibrations. “What... what exactly is a ‘Kneazle’?” He asked, eyeing the creature warily. “Oh, it’s a magical breed of cat. I think they originally come from the Americas. They’re popular as guardians and family pets. This one’s mommy died defending her babies from wolves and Marina wouldn’t leave him behind. So now we have a mascot!” At the mention of his mother the creature hung its head, as if it could feel sadness. Wladimir swallowed, “How... Are they... Does it understand what you’re saying?” He asked, not once turning his eyes away from the magical cat. “Oh, yes. Sorry for mentioning her, little guy.” Polina answered, the happiness having disappeared from her voice, “They are really intelligent. They can’t talk, but they can understand us just fine. So be nice when talking about him unless you want to get scratched!”

Wladimir sat down at his desk, his head spinning. Giant, intelligent cats? Did the wizards also have small elves that ran errands for them? Or dragons to guard their gold? The... Kneazle moving from her shoulder pulled him away from his thoughts. It jumped down garcefully and slowly walked around him in a circle. Apparently judging him as a friend, it jumped up into his lap and nestled there. He guessed it already weighed more than 10kg and it was considered young? How big did they get?

“Awww, he likes you.” Polina smiled. Wladimir looked at her, eyes wide. Did the cat have magical powers of its own? Would it harm him if he didn’t pet it? “Errr... what do I do now? What does it want?” He asked fearfully, keeping his voice low as not to disturb the creature. Polina just laughed, but after a minute of him glaring at her she finally explained, “Well, you pet him. Also _his_ name is ‘Leshy’, like the forest god.” - “But... the Leshy is a demon that takes children away from their parents to eat them!” – “Oh, I forgot, the Muggle-version is a bit distorted. The Leshy was, or maybe still is, the god of the forest and if you don’t disrespect its domain it wont harm you. It just wants to keep safe what it considers its domain, just like little Leshy here.” At the mention of his name the kitten looked up and yawned, showing already quite long fangs.

Wladimir swallowed and slowly moved to pet the Kneazle. Leshy didn’t bite him and even started to purr. He sighed in relief. He certainly needed to talk to one of the witches about the magical creatures and if they intended to get more of them. Just as the cat-creature seemed to get comfortable in his lap, another Witch approached them. “Well, well, well, look who snuck out to work on the field telephone.” Ms. Stupina said, smiling. Wladimir groaned, first a magical cat, now trouble for working when he should be resting... It was scary how quickly such things had become normal for him...

\----------

“All brooms, good run! Back in formation, we’ll do at least one more target!” Yevdokia yelled, turning her broom westward. The flying so far had been good, they managed to destroy two hardpoints and just now a convoy of four trucks. She smiled savagely, the Germans didn’t even turn their lights out at night anymore, so sure they were of their air superiority. That would change soon, the Night witches would see to that.

Flying over the steppes she looked south again. The rain some days ago had finally put the fires out, but now the city was lit by flares and muzzle-flashes. On a whim she turned her broom towards Stalingrad. They were deep over enemy territory, but there would no doubt be valuable targets there. The last time she was at HQ General Zhukov had given them permission to operate nearer to the city. The situation was getting desperate and deep down Yevdokia wondered if the famous General could hold the city. The German advance to the north had been stopped near Kamenyy, but now they concentrated nearly all of their forces on the city. The defenders fought tooth and nail, inflicted and received terrible casualties, but they were being pushed back to the river. Street by street, cellar by cellar, apartment by apartment, the Germans advanced. At least there would be some commotion behind their frontlines tonight, she thought.

“There! 2 o’clock! Is that a depot?” She heard Tatyana’s voice in her ear. Looking in the direction she saw it. Crates, trucks and tents, all in neat rows north of a village, Gorodischtsche. “All brooms! We turn right! Bombing formation!” With practiced ease the formation turned with her. She could see men at work, loading trucks and carrying equipment in the light of some lamps. They must think themselves to be out of the artillery range of the Red Army, to be safe from the Soviet Airforce, she thought. Oh, next time they would remember to work in the dark. Not that it would help against them.

“Be ready! Cast on my command! Wait... Cast!” Like always her word was followed by the sound and heat of explosions. She looked down and behind her, almost feeling giddy at the slaughter going on below her. And like always it was over too soon, the thunder of the explosions dissipating in the night, replaced by screams, sirens and searchlights. “No assessment run! I don’t want to risk it! We fly north again!” All acknowledged her order and the V turned silently, flying away from the carnage. Tonight was a good night for hunting, and they had two or three more runs in them. 24 eager eyes scanned the horizon for any sigh of light or movement, determined to rain death down on whoever was unlucky enough to be spotted...

\----------

HQ was, as always, a scene of minor insanity. People running to and fro, stacks of papers being pushed into reluctant arms, orders yelled and misheard... Yevdokia was glad she didn’t have to bother with all that. Of course, if magic could be used, a lot of the stress of running an army HQ could be reduced, but that would be followed by a whole host of new problems. Also, did the aide that showed her to the war-room change each time? She could swear it was always a different officer.

The face of General of the Army Georgy Zhukov, however, did never change, with its light scowl and permanent heavy eyebags. “Report!”, he barked, not even looking up. Apparently, his manners never changed as well. Yevdokia nevertheless saluted as she gave her report, “We flew 34 attack runs in the last seven days. We destroyed 14 hardpoints, 5 MG-Nests, 4 convoys, 4 searchlights, 3 dug-outs, 3 bridges and just yesterday a big supply depot near Gorodischtsche consisting of trucks, crates and tents. I didn’t want to risk an assessment-run on the supply-depot, fearing they’d have a lot of AA, but we hit them good and hard.”

As the General looked up from the map, she thought she was dreaming, was he... smiling? No, not smiling. But there was definitely less of a scowl on his face. “Good job, Ms. Bershanskaya. You are becoming more and more valuable to the defence as a unit. Tell me, can you transport cargo on your... brooms? And, more importantly, how much?” Despite his obvious disdain at the word ‘brooms’ he sounded curious. Yevdokia was just as curious in finding out what he planned as she explained, “Well... I think we can modify something, maybe enlarge the area where the caster would be sitting, which would reduce weight on the broom... I think we could manage something, but I think the hard limit would be at 100kg. I might be wrong though, what do you have planned?”

The General waved her over to the map. It showed the streets of Stalingrad at the Volga embankment. He gestured to a red circle on the map. “There are reports of one or two platoons of the 42nd Guards Regiment being trapped in this house here. It’s an important position near the Volga and the order was given to hold the position at all costs. The damn Germans cut the position off however and now they need supplies within the week. Delivering them by air seems feasible until a counter-attack can be executed. So, are you able to do it?”

Yevdokia thought about that. Flying directly over the city seemed dangerous, but they could approach via the other side of the Volga. The soldiers were risking their lives, so of course they would help however they could. The biggest problem would be modifying the brooms, but Sofiya could handle that. So she nodded, “Yes, General, give us two days and we will be ready.” – “Good, your other missions are suspended for the time being. Focus on the task at hand and await further instructions by radio.”

Yevdokia left the HQ happier than when she had entered. Yes, it would likely be very dangerous, but they wouldn’t kill this time. They would help their own soldiers to survive this hellish battle. The only one not happy about this special mission would be Sofiya...

End Note: Oh yes, the Night Witches are going to visit Pavlov’s House! Also a bit of a time-skip in the last part, but I think it’s necessary for me not to get bogged down too much until the next big event occurs in the next chapter(s). Lastly, I don’t know how you all picture a Kneazle, but in my head it’s a bigger and bushier Maine Coon with even bigger ears.


	9. House call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peaceful evening; The unveiling; Mishaps in the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: 150 hits, yay! Longest chapter yet, double yay! Doing my very best to keep up the weekly rhythm, triple yay! One Kudo per chapter, quadruple yay! In other news: I ran out of lines from the Sabaton-song to use as fitting chapter titles. There are some left, but they are for later use. So for the rest of the newly dubbed “Stalingrad-Arc”, titles will be done by me. Also I won’t unveil the other planned arcs because I won’t spoil you. You’ll have to read to find out!

Chapter 9 – House call

The base was peaceful. Artillery and planes were, as always, reminders of the battle a short flight to the south of them, but by now no one payed attention to those noises anymore. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the surrounding bushes. Witches gathered in small groups talking or petting Leshy, who was thoroughly enjoying the attention. Wladimir was, for the third time, explaining to Sergey how a field telephone worked. All enjoyed the knowledge that tonight there would be no missions. That for the first time since July they had a day and a night off, and thus morale was high on this day in late September.

All enjoyed the lazy afternoon except Sofiya Ozerkova, broom maintenance. She had started working almost immediately after Yevdokia had returned from HQ, commandeering one of the decoy-tents for her experiments. In theory enlarging the sitting-area of a broom was easy, as well as temporarily increasing the weight it could carry. In praxis, however, the runes she used to enhance the brooms for their use in battle made any attempt at applying new enchantments impossible. But she, inventor of the ‘Vedma-12 Model Ozerkova’ broom, would not be defeated by her own handiwork.

Her determination however didn’t keep her from ruffling her hands through her hair in despair and using her father’s best curses. Someone laughing behind her startled Sofiya from her rant and she turned around. Of course, Khiuaz had promised to help her, she remembered. “My, my, Sofiya. Will you let a mere broom defeat you?” her friend asked, and she could feel her anger at the interruption evaporate. She sighed, “It’s not the broom, Khiuaz, I’ve defeated myself. The runes and enchantments block the application of more magic. I would need six new Venik Model 12s and enchant them all over again if we want to transport cargo. Yevdokia will be so angry at me...” She sat down on the ground, head in her hands.

She felt her friend sit down next to her, giving her a long sideways hug, “Come on, you’re the brilliant Sofiya Ozerkova! You took an old line of cheap family-brooms and made them ready for war and so far, they never let us down.” Khiuaz pulled her hands away and looked into her eyes, “You can do it! You’ll find a way soon enough.”

Sofiya sighed again, “It’s not that there isn’t another way, there is an alternative method. But it’s such a crude and... stupid way to do the job, I wouldn’t even consider it. Magic can do almost everything and there has to be a way to enchant this damn thing.” – “What would be the alternative?” Khiuaz asked curiously. Sofiya debated whether she should tell her friend. She could trust her friend not to laugh at her, it was just... She had a certain reputation with brooms by now, and maybe she would even consider making her own line of flying brooms once the war was over. She certainly had learned a lot about enchanting and aerodynamics. But deep down she knew there wasn’t enough time for new brooms or new enchantments, and if someone saw what she had planned for the supply-mission...

She looked her friend in the eyes and only saw support and curiosity. Well, it would end this way anyhow, she thought, Khiuaz could at least stand next to me, taking some of the laughter away. “The alternative is... it’s what a peasant would do. I’d just nail a piece of wood right above the caster-seat to extend the broom upwards. Then I’d nail some planks underneath the caster-seat along with struts affixed to the block of wood to take the weight of the cargo and enchant everything to make it more durable. We could just affix the cargo with a sticking-spell to the underside and cancel it when we want to drop it. I’d need to recalculate and maybe shift the centre of mass somehow, but I think it would work if the casters stayed on the ground. But it would look so dumb and wrong...” She trailed off.

For what must have been the longest seconds of Sofiya’s life, her friend didn’t say anything, just looked to be deep in thought. Then Khiuaz threw her head back and laughed again in her wonderful way, giving her a tight hug. “Oh Sofiya... That’s brilliant! So stupidly easy and yet so brilliant!”

She hugged her friend back, relieved at her reaction. When the hug ended Khiuaz looked at her again and said, “Don’t worry about it looking dumb. If it works it really isn’t, and I’m sure those poor soldiers won’t care how the thing dropping the supplies looks like. Not like they could anyway, but you know what I mean.” Her friend stood up and stretched, “Come on, I’ll tell Yevdokia that only the Pilots will be needed, you go and get some wood and nails! We’ll do a big unveiling tomorrow! I can already see their faces...”

As she was pulled upright by her enthusiastic friend, Sofiya couldn’t help but smile. Khiuaz was right, as long as it got the job done no one could complain about her modifications.

\----------

Marina sat in the common room, eyes closed and a small smile on her face. It was a perfect evening. The armchair was comfortable, the room wasn’t too stuffy, Leshy was peacefully sleeping in her lap and the conversation in the background amused her. Olga was telling the story of the time when she charmed the clothes of a Noble at school to look like rags to everyone but him. She had to pause in her story because she and her audience were laughing so hard. They had their fun back then, even if they were treated as second-class people. What she would give to see the look on her old teacher’s faces if they could see her, flying in a war, helping the lowly Muggles...

“Hello? Marina, are you in there?” She opened her eyes. Yevdokia was sitting opposite of her, looking amused, “Didn’t you hear me the first time?” – “Well, Olga’s story just had me thinking about our school days again. Do you want something?” – “Can you go check on Sergey and see how the potions are doing? Also tell him that Sofiya will show us our modified brooms in about half an hour if he wants to see what she’s done.”

Marina sighed. The peace she had never lasted long. “Can’t someone else do it? I’m very comfortable right now.” – “I sent Natalya half an hour ago and she hasn’t yet returned. You know I’d go myself but Sergey is still kind of... weird around me and since he took you along to break into his Uncle’s house I’d think he likes you more. He also has been staying longer and longer in his tent with his cauldron. I’m a bit worried...” Marina was quiet for some moments. It was true, while Sergey had become much friendlier towards them over the last month, he still made an effort not to talk to or be in the same room as Yevdokia. She didn’t really care though. Even if he had sworn their new oath alongside them, he wasn’t obliged to like every one of them and if he wanted to keep his distance, she’d respect that. On the other hand, if she went, she could see his potions lab in the furthest decoy-tent. Sergey was for some reason very secretive about it, claiming his potions were best if they were undisturbed, putting up strong wards. She carefully lifted Leshy up and put him on her shoulders. He liked sitting there and no doubt looked like a king, being carried around by all of them. “Well, there goes my evening. Wish me luck.” She said standing up, smiling to soften her words. Yevdokia smiled back and nodded gratefully.

When she entered the tent, Marina was immediately stunned by the volume of the argument. Sergey must have cast a silencing-spell, she realized, as he and Natalya continued to shout at each other, both red-faced. “For the last time, you damn Commoner, I won’t help you! Bad enough we were all excommunicated, now you want to go and betray our secrets to the Muggles?!” – “And I’ll tell _you_ for the last time, I don’t care anymore! These soldiers risk their lives! The least we can do is heal them, along with dropping supplies!” – “And how do you propose we do that? ‘Oh, Mr. Soldier, I see you’ve been shot. Let me wave my stick around and give you this blood-replenisher, you’ll be back on your feet in five minutes! What’s that? Why yes, I’m a Witch, how could you tell? Was it my broom and pointy hat? Your friends two streets over? Why yes, I’ll heal them too. I’ll heal the whole damn Red Army! After that I’ll ride a dragon to Berlin and return with Hitler’s moustache!’” Sergey countered, mimicking her voice. Natalya suddenly had her wand in her hand, pointing it right between Sergey’s eyes, her voice dripping with barely controlled anger, “One more word and you’ll regret being born to some brother-sister-fuckers! I could just as easily stun and obliviate you, doing everything by myself! I was asking nicely if you would help me, but if you won’t...”

She left her sentence hanging, but to both their surprises Sergey just scoffed. “Oh, I have no doubt about that. But you’re not a Pilot, are you? So you’re not flying there tomorrow. And you can’t apparate there, since you have never seen the place. You’d need a portkey. A portkey that only I could make, since none of you seem to know the spell.” Sergey, too, seemed to barely control his anger. Marina debated if she should intervene. She’d need some more time to think about Natalya’s plan and Sergey’s opposition, but a fight in the potions lab could only end badly for everyone. Before she could make a decision, Leshy made it for her. The Kneazle had jumped down from her shoulder and walked over to Natalya, touching her leg with his head and front paws, purring loudly.

Just like that the tension in the room seemed to disappear, as both first looked down at the kitten and then at Marina, embarrassed expressions on their face. Marina decided to intervene before the fight would start again. She just hoped her imitation of Headmaster Rurikov was suitably stern. “Could you tell me what the meaning of this is? Two comrades in arms having a fight over helping people to survive? If you haven’t realized it yet, we’re not here to fight each other!” It hurt her inside, having to scold her friends in such a manner, but infighting helped no one. Both looked even more embarrassed. “Now talk it out you two and do it calmly. Trust me, you won’t be leaving before you’ve made up!”

Sergey was the first to talk again, inhaling deeply, speaking more evenly, “Look, Natalya. I agree that it’s not right that we only drop supplies, considering what we could do. But if you start healing the Muggle soldiers, you’ll have to heal all of them. Why only treat the two platoons in that hous? And what if you’re discovered? Healing spells always produce a light, and you’d have to go there at night to remain undetected. How would you explain your presence there? Why only one unarmed woman, why not another platoon?” – “I’ll just say I ran there in the darkness. According to Wladimir there are lots of women in the field hospitals and on the frontline as medics. I could just be disregarding my orders. That part won’t even be a lie. Also, I’m not stupid! I’d just hand out pain-relievers, blood-replenishers and watered-down healing droughts. There are lots of medicines in liquid form, and how would the soldiers notice the difference? When they do, I’ll be gone and they’ll be just a bit stronger and just a little bit faster healing. What do you think, Marina?”

Marina didn’t answer right away. She felt reminded of her own pleading to the Minister to let her help people. Had that been only a year ago? It felt so much longer. She sighed, “You realize that I’m second-in-command and that what you’re planning to do is against our orders? If you really want to walk around Stalingrad why not kill some Germans? That’s what we’re here for.” Natalya visibly faltered, “Oh, you’re playing _that_ card...” Marina could feel her heart hurt for her friend. “Natalya, since when do you care anyway? I’d have suspected Valentina or Sofiya wanting to sneak away, not you.” – “Valentina... She asked me to do it. She’ll fly the mission, but I’m a Caster, so I’m free.” Marina sighed again, “I’m not disagreeing with your plan, Natalya. However, you should think, and I mean really think, about the consequences if you go. And I don’t want to know about this. I came here, checked on Sergey’s progress; how is it by the way?” She asked. The man was stunned for a second, but answered confidently, “I’m almost done brewing the requested 5 litres of pain-stopper, skele-grow, blood-replenisher, pepper-up and dreamless sleep. For our own use.” He added, looking at Natalya. “I’ll work the night and have the potions ready tomorrow. The charmed storage-bottles are ready as well, so we are ready for everything. They should keep for at least a year.” – “Good. Now, as I was saying: I came here to check on the progress and to tell you that Sofiya will be unveiling her modified brooms in about ten minutes. That’s all. If you want to disregard our orders I won’t stop you since we are friends, but if you get caught that’s between you and Yevdokia and I won’t help you. You’re an adult, you are responsible for your actions.” With that she turned around and left, leaving two stunned people and a confused Kneazle behind.

She sighed again as she walked over to the small crowd that was forming in front of Sofiya’s tent. She could understand Natalya’s desire to help, she really could. But the risk was too big in her opinion. Still, she wondered, will I regret my decision of denying knowledge? Time would tell, she’d probably know in two days...

\----------

What were the damn Witches planning now?, Wladimir thought, looking over to the nearest decoy tent. It had been such a nice evening, not too cold or too hot. He had just settled down at his beloved field telephone, now all connected and in perfect working order. He even had saved some of his breakfast, or dinner, depending on your rhythm, to give to Leshy. The damn creature was too curious for his own good, he once even found him chewing happily on the wire. When he scolded the Kneazle, it just looked at him with its big green eyes and then happily continued. It was as if the beast knew that Wladimir was afraid of him. There was really no good reason for that, after all it was just a big kitten, but who knew what magical powers it could unleash...

One of the Witches, Polina, made her way over to him, waving happily. “Wladimir! What are you doing there, come on! Sofiya is unveiling her modified broom!” – “Thanks, Ms. Gelman, but I’d rather stay at my post.” – “I told you, call me Polina. We shared a trench, I think we really can’t get any closer.” She said teasingly. He looked away, hoping his blushing wasn’t visible. He was a soldier, dammit, not some girl who blushed at every occasion or innuendo. “Like I said, Polina, I’d rather stay here.”

The witch however wasn’t persuaded, she just used her wand to make his chair rise and then tip forwards, forcing him to stand. “There, now you’re up so come on. Otherwise I’ll sick Leshy on you!” She teased again. Wladimir felt a bit annoyed, but still smiled a bit as he walked over to her. “All right, I’ll go. If anyone calls us during that time, though, it’s your fault.”

They made their way over to the group. All twelve witches as well as Sergey were standing in front of the tent, talking and laughing. The day off really worked wonders, Wladimir thought. This was almost bearable, apart from the still foreign concept of magic, like a group of old friends coming together. Though Sergey looked a bit more grumpy than usual, casting side glances at Ms. Meklin. Had something happened between the two?

His musings were interrupted when the entry-flap lifted and Ms. Ozerkova and Ms. Dospanova walked out of the tent, the former looking nervous and fidgeting with her hands, the latter smiling almost knowingly. Silence fell almost immediately upon the group as Ms. Ozerkova began to speak, “So... I’m glad you’re all here... Ah... The new brooms are all ready. Only the Pilots will be needed though, I had to make room for the cargo. So...” She looked around, as if searching for inspiration, “Well... Here are the new brooms.” With a flick of her wand Ms. Dospanova made the flap rise, unveiling the new design.

Wladimir was stunned. He was serving with real, authentic witches. He had seen them heal bullet wounds with their wands, they had cast a spell on him so he’d see the brooms as they actually were, they could do nearly anything with magic. Polina had told him about turning water into wine, about animated artificial men, they even had a magical cat-beast that liked wires. And the best they could do with their brooms was to nail boards and sticks underneath the rear part? The loading area facing downwards?! He felt laughter rising up in his throat at the absurdity. They could disappear and reappear at will, travelling great distances, they could make big explosions by just saying a word, and still they had to shoddily nail something together?!

He couldn’t take it anymore, he burst out laughing, doubling over, holding his sides. Some part of his brain knew they must be looking at him, but it was just too funny. He fell to his knees, still clutching his sides, tears on his cheeks. He saw boots in front of him on the ground and looked up. But before he could realize who stood before him, he was slapped hard one his left cheek. “You fucking asshole!” A woman shouted before running away.

He looked around confused. His laughter was gone, replaced by a steady growing sense of doom. Eleven angry witches, and one very pissed off Kneazle, were glaring at him. He stood up, quickly looking in each face without meeting their eyes. Ms. Ozerkova was missing, she had slapped him. Before he could even consider his next steps he had a wand pointed in his face. Ms. Dospanova was looking ready to murder him. He swallowed. “You absolute pig! Do you know how long Sofiya agonized over her designs? Do you find this funny? Do you see anyone else laughing?!” She screamed the last part. “I should turn you into a worm! Or try the _cruciatus_ , I never had the chance at school! Pain beyond your imagination! Do you want that? Do you?!” All Wladimir could do was shake his head, his eyes never leaving the glowing tip of the wand. “You’ll go after her and apologize! You’ll say that you didn’t mean it like that and that her design is brilliant! And you will be sincere if you don’t want to spend the rest of your short life as a cockroach!”

Wladimir quickly glanced around to find support, or maybe even just sympathy, but found none in their angry faces. “How...” He began, “Errr... Where... where did she go?” He asked haltingly. Instead of answering, Ms. Dospanova just pointed to the shed. He nodded and slowly walked away backwards until he left the semi-circle that had formed around him. He turned around and walked to the shed more quickly, all too aware of the glances in his back, burning like knifes. Could Witches kill with their stares? They looked all to ready to do it. Even the Kneazle.

Inside he found Ms. Ozerkova curled up in an armchair, crying. He approached, but she either didn’t hear his steps or chose to ignore him. He cleared his throat and she looked up, eyes red and face wet. “Go away and fuck you and your mother!” – “Ms. Ozerkova, I-“ – “Go away!” She shouted. Wladimir sighed but made no move to leave her. Instead he tried to keep his voice even, hoping she wouldn’t curse him. “Ms. Ozerkova, I want to apologize. I didn’t mean it like that, and your designs are brilliant.”

The Witch just looked at him for some moments, “No, you meant it like that, the design is stupid and someone is forcing you to apologize.” She said before burying her head in her hands again. Wladimir swallowed, at this rate he wouldn’t likely see the morning. “Ms. Ozerkova, I really am sorry. You’re right, I don’t know what I’m talking about, but laughing about your work was rude.” He breathed deeply, trying to keep his fear of a failed apology at bay. “Look. I really have no idea. I just see you all casting these fantastical spells. You ride on brooms, you can disappear and reappear, you can animate stuff...” At this the Witch looked up again, a questioning look on her face. Wladimir continued, “You can do all these, well... magical things. Polina and Sergey told me a bit about that. So when you showed your broom... It was just too funny for me. You can do anything you want, but you still had to resort to just grabbing a hammer and some nails.”

Ms. Ozerkova wiped at her eyes, slowly uncurling. “I have charmed the struts and the boards to be more durable.” She said quietly. Wladimir took that as a good sign, “And I’m sure you did a brilliant job. So please forgive my ignorance in these matters, I’m sure your brooms can do anything you want them to. You won’t fail in supplying our cut-off comrades in the city. So... please accept my apology.” He finished lamely. Apologizing in the army was so much easier, he thought. You’d just get yelled at for five to thirty minutes, and no hurt feelings other than your own. But this, and the consequences of his laughing fit... He was scared.

When the Witch smiled he breathed a sigh of relief, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes, I think I could see how it could be funny. That was my first thought, actually. Being ridiculed for it... I guess it came true after all.” She looked sad again. Wladimir racked his brain for something to say, but Ms. Ozerkova was quicker, “It’s just... there’s all this pressure on me, all those lives at stake... It kind of gets to me. I haven’t been this tense since my graduation-year at school.” – “I really meant no disrespect. For what it’s worth I admire your commitment. The easiest solution is often the best, and sometimes it takes courage to do what you think is the right course of action. So... please don’t let Ms. Dospanova turn me into a cockroach, or use that curse on me, that.cru... cruze...” His attempt at humour fell flat on its nose. Damn, what was that curse called?

But Ms. Ozerkova smiled again, and this time it reached her eyes. “The _cruciatus_?” He nodded. “She threatened that, did she? I guess you really made her mad.” Wladimir swallowed again, afraid of her next words. “But... I accept your apology. Just... please don’t laugh at my designs again, ok?” Wladimir felt his whole body relax. Maybe he wouldn’t end as an insect after all. Though he definitely would watch his mouth in the future.

He cringed when the Witch suddenly stood up, but she made no move to attack him or to reach for her wand. “I think it would be best if you stayed away from Khiuaz for tonight though. No way to tell what she do to you.” There it was again, he thought, the fear, though her smile took some of the threat of her words away. She walked out without saying another thing, leaving him to contemplate his life once again. At least I’ve learned one thing, he thought as he made his way after her. Don’t laugh at Witches or their brooms...

\----------

Six brooms flew southwards along the Volga, black shadows in a dark grey and cloudy sky. The night was perfect for flying, almost no wind and cloudy. Yevdokia looked at the ground below her. They were flying over the eastern bank, over friendly ground. That would change once they were over the city, however. Searchlights lit the sky along with occasional bursts of tracers. Artillery was still firing at night, explosions and flares briefly lighting the streets. She didn’t envy anyone in there.

“Formation! Turn right on my command! Turn!” The V lazily turned, flying almost straight west. “Be ready, only about 1500 meters left!” They were over the Volga now, the water black like ink despite their goggles. A few boats travelled to and from the city, grey blobs on the dark water, likely bringing in supplies and fresh troops. She wondered how many of them had been sunk by the German planes. All those men dead before they could even fire a shot...

She ripped herself away from those thoughts. She needed to concentrate on her mission. Looking ahead she saw the building in the distance. “Right in front of me! Red brick house, four stories! In the middle of the square! One side partly collapsed, roof gone! That’s out target!” Affirmatives came back, they all knew where to drop their supplies. The crates looked sturdy, and the men delivering them had assured her that the parachutes would deploy as planned. When Yevdokia had asked what would happen if they didn’t open, they just shrugged and said that damaged supplies were better than none at all. Canned food, bandages and ammunition would survive a crash. Well, now it was too late to do anything anyway.

“200 metres! Be ready to drop on my command!” She ordered, grabbing her wand with her free hand. The release cord for the parachute was fixed to the broom, ensuring it would deploy if the crate dropped. She just hoped that 150 metres was high enough.

“All ready! Drop!” She said as she wordlessly cancelled her sticking-charm. She immediately felt her broom rise, now that the weight was gone. Her reflexes prevented her from falling down, and a quick look around told her that all Witches were still flying. “Well done, Witches! Well done! We’re turning and assessing our drop, and then off to our home! Turn over the left on my command! Turn!”

Flying without the extra weight was a lot easier and the formation turned quickly. She saw three intact and two shattered crates on the ground near the house. Yevdokia smiled. Five out of six wasn’t that bad, and even if two were destroyed, at least the food would have survived. “Very well done, Night Witches! Five out of six landed, three even intact!” Cheers answered her announcement, and she joined in for a quick moment. They did their part, now it was up to the soldiers to continue the fight.

She threw a final look back. Stalingrad looked more like a wasteland than a vibrant city, the streets pock-marked with holes and trenches, wreckage and debris everywhere, as well as unburied bodies. She hoped they were all Germans. A flash drew her eyes to a corner of the square. That... almost looked and felt like a portkey. Yevdokia shook her head. Yeah, someone was using a portkey to travel to Stalingrad. Maybe they planned a lazy stroll down the embankment. She resolved to go straight to bed when they returned home. She was starting to see things...

\----------

“Fucking inbred bastard! Son of a goat!” Natalya muttered under her breath. She dusted herself off reflexively. The medic-uniform she had transfigured would hopefully fool the soldiers. She couldn’t very well show up there in her flying-gear, though she took her googles along. Natalya looked around her. She was in a bombed-out room facing a square of some kind. The area was riddled with craters and a lone trench zig-zagged to the occupied ruin like a dark creek across the grey and torn earth. Across the open space she saw a four-story house made of red bricks. The house she was supposed to appear next to. At least her satchel-bag with the bandages and potions wasn’t missing. “I’ll throw him in his damn cauldron and make Sergey-Solyanka... Should last over the winter...” She continued as she made her way to the outer wall. Thankfully she had thought about wearing her flight-googles, so she could clearly see the house. And even better, she could see two crates on her side, dropped close to their destination.

She prepared to apparate the short distance when a sound from behind her made her freeze. It sounded like footsteps on rubble. Damn, Natalya cursed in her head. If those were Germans, she’d just alert them with her disapperating, causing Gods knew what. She cast a quick disillusionment-spell on herself, just as two soldiers came through the door-opening, guns at the ready. They walked a few steps into the room, scanning their surroundings. Then one lowered his weapon and his body-language relaxed. _“Hab dir doch gesagt, dass hier nichts ist. Du siehst Gespenster, warum sollten die Russen hier drin ein Licht anzünden?_ _Die wissen, dass wir hier sind.“_ He said. The other one continued to advance into the room. Natalya realized he might be aiming for the window next to her. She held her breath and very slowly raised her wand, ready to cast the killing-curse. The man pressed himself to the wall, back turned towards her, not even half a metre away from her. He looked out of the window, keeping to the shadow of the damaged ceiling. Natalya felt like her lungs might burst, but she didn’t dare to breathe. After a long minute the solder stepped away from the window, walking to his comrade. _“Und ich hab dir gesagt, dass ich hier ein Licht gesehen und Russisch gehört hab! Die Schweine sind hier irgendwo.“ – „Du wirst paranoid. Wir haben Scharfschützen und MGs draußen, die trauen sich nicht aus ihrem Haus.“_ Natalya slowly exhaled, still ready to kill them both.

The relaxed soldier turned and walked to the door, speaking over his shoulder, _“Komm, wir haben noch einiges zu gehen heut Nacht._ _Lass sie in ihrem Haus doch versauern, dafür haben wir die Stukas._ _Die Stadt haben wir noch früh genug.“_ The words sounded... kind of friendly? She didn’t understand what they said, but it was clear that the soldiers hadn’t spotted her. The more tense soldier seemed to get angry, _“Ach, leck’ mich doch am Arsch!_ _Sei nur leichtsinnig! Lass dich nur von den verdammten Russen erschießen, die ganze Arbeit bleibt eh wieder an mir hängen!“_ But he, too, left the room after a final look around.

Natalya waited until the footsteps couldn’t be heard anymore, only then did she start to slowly sit down, trying to control her breathing. He had been so close, she could have touched him! And how did they find her?! A poorly executed portkey could result in a flash and a noise. Did Sergey do this deliberately?

After about five minutes Natalya had calmed down enough to apparate to the house. She would apparate maybe ten metres away from it and then run the remaining distance. If she was asked she’d just say that she had run all the way and was disobeying her orders to help the soldiers. The last part wasn’t even a lie. She disappeared and reappeared with a soft ‘plop’, quickly got her bearings and started running. There was a big hole in the wall of the ground-floor that made a perfect entrance. When she was almost through, she suddenly saw the shape of a man appear in the hole. She was startled, slipped on the loose rubble and fell forwards, right onto the man, the momentum throwing them both to the floor.

Before she could even reorient or untangle herself, a hard punch to her stomach forced the air from her lungs. She curled up and was pushed away. A kick to her ribs had her involuntarily whimper. She was flipped on her hurting stomach, something cold and hard pressing against her head, and a knee in her back holding her down. Natalya could only see an empty doorframe and corridor. She didn’t dare move her head to look at her captor. “Who are you? Why are you here? How did you get here?” Someone growled next to her ear. The relief she felt at hearing Russian again was destroyed by her fear. What would she say? Why did she even do this, showing up here suddenly and without any way to identify herself. “Answer me!” The man growled again, increasing the pressure on her back.

“I... I’m Natalya... Meklin... I’m here to help you!” She managed to cough. “Yeah right. Let’s try that again.” She heard a metallic sound behind her head. “Who are you and why are you here?” She felt tears coming to her eyes, this wasn’t the way she was supposed to die, shot by a soldier of the Red Army. “I’m Natalya Meklin! I ran away to help you, I have medicine in my bag! I’m unarmed! Please, it’s the truth! Please don’t kill me!” She almost shouted, very close to full-on crying now. Please, Gods and Magic, please let them believe me, she prayed silently.

“You know, Mikhail, she might be telling the truth.” Another, more restrained voice said, “If she truly was a spy she wouldn’t come here falling through a hole in the wall. And why should the fascists infiltrate us anyway, they know where we are.” – “She could have explosives in her bag or try and kill our wounded!” – “Well then search her, you idiot!” The one holding her down, Mikhail, seemed to be the subordinate of the other. She felt a hand roughly patting her down and ruffling through her satchel. She held her breath. Would the small flasks seem strange? Would he find the wand she carried in her sleeve?

After long minutes of being touched and searched, the weight on her back lifted, though the muzzle remained. “Nothing but medicine, Sergeant!” She saw a pair of boots appear in the doorframe. “What are you idiots shouting about?! Who is this?” A third voice asked angrily. “Senior Sergeant Pavlov!” Natalya’s captor said, “This woman fell through our hole a few minutes ago. She claims that she’s here to help our wounded. I already searched her, she doesn’t carry any weapons, just bandages and glass flasks, likely containing medicine.” Senior Sergeant Pavlov was quiet for some moments. This is it, Natalya thought fearfully, he’ll shoot me. If she could somehow let her wand fall into her hand, she could disapparate. The soldier holding the gun to her head was likely distracted, if she could just...

Suddenly the Sergeant spoke, “Stand her up, Bondarenko!” Natalya was roughly pulled to her feet. Quickly looking around she saw a soldier aiming outside with a machine gun to her left. He had a dirty bandage wrapped around his left foot and seemed to favour the other while leaning on his weapon. The young Sergeant Pavlov in front of her didn’t look any better. The uniforms of both soldiers were ripped and stained in places, and she guessed her captor looked the same. Pavlov looked at her curiously, before raising his hand and taking her goggles off her head. Natalya held her breath. If he put them on, how would she explain this? The Muggles didn’t have night-vision, at least not this good. But thankfully he just curiously turned them over in his hands before looking back at her. Maybe he’s thinking these are prescription-googles, Natalya hoped. “So... Who are you and why are you here?” – “She says her name is-“ Her captor, Mikhail, began, but the Sergeant interrupted him, “Shut up, I want to hear it from her.”

Natalya breathed deeply to collect herself. Maybe she wouldn’t be shot today if she stayed calm and they believed her. “My name is Natalya Meklin. I came here to help you. I have medicine and bandages and I can treat your wounded.” – “Ah, so you were sent along with the supplies that were dropped this night? Are you a trained doctor? Are more coming?” He asked, his face lighting up. “Well... not directly. I... I disobeyed my orders to come here and help.” Sergeant Pavlovs face fell again. “I think she might be a spy, Sergeant.” Mikhail started. “Oh, please, as if a spy would literally fall into your arms. Also she’s Russian.” The soldier manning the MG interrupted him, not looking up from his weapon. Pavlov raised an eyebrow at that. Mikhail started again, “Well, Sergeant, I heard someone running outside and walked over to the hole and suddenly she fell against me, taking me down with her. I punched and restrained her to interrogate her.” – “Well...” The Sergeant began, “I have to agree with Gluschtschenko. She likely isn’t a spy. Which unit do you belong to?” Natalya was caught flat-footed again. Why did she think she could just show up here and expect them to let her heal the wounded? “Err... Well... I’m a volunteer... civilian.” She stammered.

Pavlov looked her up and down, thinking. Suddenly he nodded. “Well, if she’s unarmed and this nervous, she likely is on our side. Come, I’ll take you to the wounded. But one sudden movement, or one of them dying, and I’ll shoot you then and there.” He handed her goggles back, turned around and started walking. Could it be that easy? Was this a trap? They didn’t want to shoot her anymore? Mikhail, her captor, gave her a push to her back and broke her confusion. She quickly followed the Sergeant deeper into the building, putting her goggles on her head again.

They made their way through the ruin to the basement. There lay long lines of wounded men and women on bundles of fabric or clothing, some sleeping, some writhing in pain. They all seemed to be asleep, or at least tried to sleep. Natalya was thankful for the quiet. A lone oil-lamp burned on a crate, casting long shadows on the wall. Sergeant Pavlov extended his hand as if to invite her in, “Welcome to the field hospital, Ms. Meklin. You can start looking them over, but I’ll watch you closely.” He reached to his hip with his other hand, pulling out his sidearm and cocking the hammer, “And if you really are here to sabotage us...” He didn’t finish his sentence, but the implication was clear.

Natalya swallowed and made her way over to the nearest figure. It was a woman, scarcely older than her, a civilian according to her clothes. She had her right arm and leg wrapped in dirty bandages and was sleeping fitfully. Natalya gently shook her, startling her awake. “It’s ok, it’s ok. My name is Natalya, I’m here to help you. What is your name?” The other woman looked at her with a confused expression, “My name is Anastasia. Are you with the Army? Did they break through?” She asked eagerly, but Natalya shook her head. “No, I’m here on my own. The Airforce dropped some supplies tonight though. Now, what happened to you?” Anastasia’s features fell at the news, “Oh... I was burned. The Germans, they dropped bombs on our shelter and... and...” Tears started to form in the civilian’s eyes. Natalya hugged her good side, trying to comfort her. “It’s ok, it’s ok. I’ll give you something to drink and you should feel better afterwards. But I’ll need to check your bandages first, ok?” The other woman only nodded.

Natalya reached into her satchel and handed her patient a pain-reliever, “Here, this will make things easier. You’ll feel maybe a bit light-headed, but that’s normal.” Anastasia eyed the small flask suspiciously, but drank it after a few moments. Almost immediately she relaxed, breathing more evenly, looking confused at Natalya, “The pain... it stopped completely...“ – “I’m sorry, but it will only last for a few hours. I’ll give you something to help you sleep after I’m finished so you can get some rest.” Natalya unwrapped her arm and almost recoiled at the sickly-sweet smell coming from the bandages. Infection. She thought about her options as she changed the bandages. A spell would fix the issue, but with the Sergeant standing behind her she didn’t dare to use her wand. But a blood-replenisher along with clean bandages might also work, or at least stop the infection from spreading for a while. She handed the potion to Anastasia after she was finished, telling her to change the bandages once a day for fresh ones. Finally, Natalya gave her a bottle of the dreamless-sleep potion, telling the young woman to try and go to sleep. Not even a minute after Anastasia had drank the potion she yawned and laid back down on the ground, quickly falling asleep. Natalya stood up, sighing. This would be a long night, she thought.

The Sergeant looked at her with new curiosity, “The medicine you gave her for the pain, was that Laudanum?” He asked, motioning at Anastasia. “Err... not exactly. It’s a new medicine that doesn’t lead to addiction.” – “Hmm, you seem to have very good supplies, Ms. Meklin. How does a civilian volunteer get such medicines when we don’t even have Vodka for the pain?” The gun was raised again, pointing at her chest. “Tell me, why does a lone woman appear one night out of the blue and start giving out new medicine to a lightly injured patient?” – “I, well... I can’t tell you.” – “Bullshit!” – “No, really! I can’t tell you because that would be very bad for us both.”

Natalya cursed herself for trying to explain her magical medicine. Sergeant Pavlov didn’t look convinced at her lame explanation for her secrecy. He instead grabbed her by her uniform and pulled her through the door back to the corridor, leading her deeper into the basement. He stopped at one of the few remaining intact doors, opened it and threw her into the room. Natalya fell hard against some crates and heard the door shut behind her. What did he plan now? Did he want to shoot her? Did he want the room to silence the gunshot? She turned around and looked down the barrel of his sidearm.

“I’ll ask you one final time. This room is undamaged, and the corridor is deserted. No one but myself will hear you. Who are you? How did you get here? And how did you get such advanced medicine?” Natalya wanted to cry at the whole situation, desperate as it was. She just wanted to help them, why wouldn’t they let her do it? And now, even if she told him the truth, he wouldn’t believe her and shoot her. This was how it ended...

She took a deep breath to gain a few more moments to think. If she died this way, shot in a damp cellar for supposedly being a spy, she would at least tell the truth, Natalya decided. “My name is Natalya Meklin. I’m a member of the 588th Night Bomber Regiment, the ‘Night Witches’. We really are Witches, flying on brooms and casting explosive spells to fight the Germans. I came here tonight to help your wounded with healing potions and magic.” She said with a determined voice. The Sergeant clearly didn’t believe her, that much was obvious from his face. But as he tried to process the information, she noticed he relaxed the grip on his gun as well as lowering it slightly. With a speed she had never achieved before, Natalya’s wand slid into her hand and a stunner hit the soldier before he could do as much as blink. He fell backwards and leaned against the door, his body stiff as a board. Natalya exhaled shakily, adrenaline pumping through her veins. If only she had been that quick in the duels back at Durmstrang...

She took Sergeant Pavlovs gun from his hand, setting it down on a crate before conjuring magic ropes to restrain him. She cast a silencing spell on the whole room and undid the stunning-spell. Almost immediately after that, the soldier raged, shouting at her to let him go and that she was betraying her country in helping the Germans. Natalya just raised her wand and silenced his voice. “Ok, calm down please. I promise that I’m not here to hurt you. I cast a spell on this room to make it sound-proof, so your screaming won’t help anyway. But I need you to calm down and listen to me. Nod if you agree.” To her surprise Pavlov nodded, though he still struggled against the ropes. She decided it was good enough. “I really am a Witch. Magic is real, it has been for thousands of years, maybe even since the dawn of mankind. Normally we live in secrecy from the non-magical world, considering how we were treated in the past. Nod if you understood this.” He nooded again and the struggling lessened. “Now, there are some Witches and Wizards that are born to non-magical parents. They are called Muggle-born, and I’m one of them. There are also Purebloods, families where every member is magical and has been for hundreds of years. Some Muggle-born, along with myself, decided to involve themselves in this war, considering that all of our families are in danger. So we founded the 588th Night Bomber Regiment, an actual Regiment in this Army, to help fight against the invaders. We fly brooms that are charmed to look like planes, and we were the ones dropping the crates with supplies for you this night. Nod if you understand.” Again, the Sergeant nodded.

Natalya sighed. Now for the hard part, she thought. “I really am here to help you, and if you agree to let me use magic on the wounded, and if you further agree not to tell anyone about the existence of magic, I guarantee that all the injured will survive. If not, I will leave immediately and you won’t see me again. To show that I’m not your enemy, I will release you and give your voice back.” At the wave of her wand the ropes disappeared and Sergeant Pavlov jumped to his feet, backing away from her until he hit the door. “What... How...” He stammered. Natalya saw his eyes flicker to his gun. She raised her wand again, “Please, don’t do that.” She pleaded, “I want to help you, I honestly do, but I can’t do that if you won’t let me. The young woman I treated, Anastasia, she has a bad infection. The potions I gave her should help, but there is an easy spell to get rid of it. She’ll survive, although scars will remain. Think about her, please.”

After long seconds she saw the Sergeant slump against the wall. “Suppose all this is true,” he said, sounding tired, “Suppose you really can do magic... Suppose what you did to me was magic and not just my mind finally snapping... Why?” He looked at her again. Natalya noted that, although he seemed to be her age, his eyes looked... old, desperate. Like he had seen too much already. She lowered her wand, “My parents are Muggles, non-magicals. We are twelve women in our unit, all Muggle-born. All of our parents and siblings are in danger. Almost all of them had to leave their homes, either to fight or to flee. We won’t isolate ourselves while our fellow men and women risk their lives in this war.” She got more confident, remembering why they started this operation in the first place, “For thousands of years, the magical community has isolated themselves, believing to be above the non-magical world. They all scoff at their wars and plagues, sitting in their enchanted homes, congratulating themselves on their superiority. For us, the Muggle-born, the world consists of prejudice, of disdain. We are treated like second-class humans. But we care about the fate of the non-magical world. We were raised in it after all. So we... we formed this unit to fight, to use the gift that Magic has given us to help bring this war to an end. You know as well as we all do what happens to the civilians in the occupied parts, to the prisoners of war, to the women... If we can help to speed up the defeat of the fascists, we will do everything that we can... I guess that’s the ‘why’, Sergeant.”

Pavlov was quiet after her little speech. Natalya, too, was silent, thinking back to last year. If Yevdokia or Marina could have heard her little speech, they would be in tears, she thought, laughing at the pathos. But it was the truth. Suddenly the Sergeant stood up straight, “Well, considering that this is just bizarre... and I likely couldn’t force you if I tried... Continue treating the wounded. I’ll still watch you, but do what you deem necessary. If you offer us help, I won’t turn it down.”

Natalya smiled, relief flooding through her. She waved her wand to cancel the silencing-spell on the room. She quickly returned to the makeshift hospital, still smiling. Anastasia was asleep, looking peaceful. She knelt down next to her and waved her wand over her injuries. The limbs glowed in a soft blue light and the young woman relaxed even further. Natalya stood back up, turning to Sergeant Pavlov, “That should have disinfected her injuries. She still needs to rest and change her bandages, but she’ll definitely survive." The soldier just looked at her, eyes wide in disbelief, “It’s... that easy for you?” He managed to say, keeping his voice down, “Why... why aren’t you helping out in the real field hospitals behind the lines? Why-“ Natalya cut him off, “I shouldn’t even be here, much less perform magic in front of Muggles, Sergeant. I came here on my own against my orders to help you. To openly help out in the field hospitals... it would expose our world. I can’t risk that. I’m sorry.” She finished sadly, walking to the next patient. Pavlov didn’t respond to that, lost in his thoughts.

Being able to do magic sped up the healing a lot and after only 15 minutes, all twelve civilians and six soldiers had taken her potions and were wrapped in fresh bandages. Two of them had suffered from gunshots that hit the bone, and she hoped that the dreamless-sleep would stay in effect until the skele-grow wore off. She didn’t wish that feeling on anyone of her patients. After the last injury, a large, nasty shrapnel-wound, was taken care of, she stood back up, turning to Sergeant Pavlov. “Well, Sergeant, this is it. I’ve done all that I can. I’m not a trained medi-witch, but they will all survive and be able to continue the fight. Just... let them rest for a few days more if you can.” She searched her satchel for a final potion, holding out the flask to the Sergeant. He took it but eyed her suspiciously. “Relax, Sergeant,” Natalya said, trying to sound soothing, “It’s a potion for your weariness. You look exhausted and with this you’ll feel reinvigorated.”

Sergeant Pavlov looked at her for a few more seconds, but then shrugged and drank the potion. Almost immediately his eyelids began to lower and he slumped forwards. Natalya caught him and lowered him gently to the ground. “I’m sorry, Sergeant,” She whispered into his ear, “We have to stay a secret. If we survive this, I promise I’ll find you and apologize. But for now, I have to do this.” She stood up, drawing her wand. Pavlov looked at her from under heavy eyelids, a look of betrayal on his face, but he was already too tired to speak. Natalya blinked the tears from her eyes, thinking of her argument with Sergey as she whispered, _“Obliviate”_

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End Note: So that’s that. I really struggled with this chapter for some reason and had to rewrite about half of it because my computer crashed and I forgot to let it save every five minutes. But over all I’m happy with how it turned out.

End Note 2: Translation for the German:

I told you there’s nothing here. You’re seeing ghosts, why should the Russians turn on a light in here? They know we are here.

And I’ve told you, I saw a light and heard Russian. The pigs are around here somewhere. – You’re becoming paranoid. We’ve got snipers and MGs outside, they don’t dare leave their house.

Come, we’ve got a long way left to walk tonight. Let them sit in their house, we’ve got Stukas for that. The city will be ours soon enough.

Oh, lick my ass! Be reckless! Get shot by the damn Russians, all the work will be up to me in the end!

End Note 3: I don’t really know how apparition and portkeys work, and I suspect J.K. does neither (or it’s been too long since I’ve rea the original novels). For this Fic I think that if you want to apparate you either need to have seen the area before or need something magical to anchor you (like someone using underage magic, a powerful curse or a magical signature). For me a portkey works with coordinates, and the better the caster the more precise the outcome. So I’d think a portkey would be necessary for Natalya to go to the house, since the coordinates are known but she has never seen the area. Apparating home works fine, the Witches have a special point for that. And before you ask: I know Polina and Wladimir appeared in the middle of the base, but they haven’t set up any anti-apparition-wards. Why should they? They’re not fighting against wizards, and if the Ministry truly wanted them gone, they’d find a way. And if there was an emergency, they’d hinder themselves. The apparition point is more out of convenience, since appearing in the middle of the base might lead to accidents.


	10. A day in the Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food; A nice conversation; Picture perfect; The General's orders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: First of all, I’m sorry for the long time without updates. I was in the hospital for some time and didn’t have my laptop as well as the right mood to write something after being discharged. I’m all better now (in body and mind) and the regular schedule of ‘hopefully once a week’ will continue from this day on. And don’t worry, I’m all better now and don’t have to return there. Also it wasn't COVID. This chapter was mainly written before I had to go to the hospital, so the quality and/or tone might not match throughout the chapter. The next one will be better in that regard I hope, but I have to release something now or I’ll never start again.
> 
> A.N.2 (original A.N.): Yay, the big one zero. Who’d have thought it? Winter is coming and the situation for the Red Army is slowly changing. Bit of a slice-of-life chapter, this one. Thanks for your continued support dear readers! Also over 200 hits now! Yay!
> 
> A.N.3: Happy Halloween/Samhain/whatever-you-celebrate! Try to have some fun and stay safe!

At a certain mansion in Germany, Gellert Grindelwald frowned in thought. According to the recent reports, the advance of Heeresgruppe B was stalled, primarily at Stalingrad. On the one hand this was good, he thought, stalemates only made the fighting more intense and the Muggles would show their barbarian ways more and more. On the other hand, he wondered if the Wehrmacht could regain their momentum once they broke the stalemate. If they broke it. His features relaxed. The war would work out nicely for his plans, either way.

Those ‘Night Witches’ on the other hand... His reports also spoke of the fear they instilled in the troops near Stalingrad. The name didn’t bother him too much, although he could appreciate the Muggles being right in their nickname, albeit accidentally. He’d have bet his left hand that the Russian Ministry would arrest them, or at the very least expel them from their jurisdiction. Instead they only revoked their magical citizenship but permitted them to fight on. He certainly had underestimated the political climate there. Or maybe his calls for consequences had been too harsh, and they united against a common foe? Well, no matter, he decided, after the war is over either way I’ll expose them to the magical community worldwide. The foreign Wizards that were sympathetic to his views would only be pushed further into his arms, filling his ranks with more capable fighters.

Grindelwald rose from his chair and paced around his study, feeling restless at his thoughts. He would need all the help he could get, considering that Albus Dumbledore would eventually have to move against him. If he hadn't started already. But if he showed the world that the Muggles were a bigger threat to the magical community than he was, even though certain people dubbed him a ‘Dark Lord’...

He looked out of the window. Night had fallen by now, a dark grey sky hung above the Black Forest. It was only October but soon the snow would start to fall. The country was under blockade and exhausting itself trying to continue the war. He looked at his reflection in the window and smiled. He would let the war play out, focusing on drawing more support to his side. Let the ‘Night Witches’ fly, maybe the AA or the cold would get them. Dumbledore was a greater threat than twelve Mudbloods. He would see to their demise eventually, though. He always finished what he started...

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Wladimir sighed, content with the world for once. He was sitting outside in the nice late-autumn evening at his field-telephone. The Kneazle had finally left him alone after he threw a salted fish from his breakfast/dinner as far away as he could. There was enough fish left to enjoy the treat and the Witches hadn’t bothered him yet. He wasn’t a pilot but the logistics department apparently didn’t know or care, so he ate better than he did before. Not by much, but there was more cheese and even dried fruits. All he needed now was for things to stay this way.

The sound of footsteps approaching him from behind quickly destroyed his nice mood, however. He sighed and turned around. Polina walked towards him, the infernal Kneazle on her shoulders. He swore that it was getting bigger every day. “Hey, Wladimir, how are you?” - “I’m good. Just enjoying my meal.” He said, not really wanting to talk right now. “Ah yes, I’ve been meaning to ask you: How can you eat that stuff?” She asked, putting the cat-creature back on the ground. Leshy immediately circled Wladimir slowly, his disturbingly green eyes never leaving his remaining fish. “What do you mean? It’s a normal army-ration. Bread, salted fish, some butter, a bit of cheese... It’s better than what I ate at my old unit I can assure you.” Polina sighed and closed the distance, leaning against his table. She grabbed a fish and threw it to Leshy, who immediately devoured it. Wladimir sighed, “You know, I don’t really get much meat as it is, and I’ve already given him a fish to leave me alone.” The witch only smiled, “But he’s still growing, he needs food. Anyway,” she quickly added as he opened his mouth, “I was wondering if it doesn’t bother you. Be honest, it doesn’t taste very good. It reminds me of the food at my school actually...” She looked into the distance. Wladimir perked up. This was a perfect opportunity to gain some more insights into their world, if he didn’t botch it. “Oh? How is that? When I was at school we certainly didn’t eat worse than this.” He said carefully.

Polina sighed and sat on the edge of his table, looking down at him, a sad smile on her face, “Well, we ate worse. At least the House of Commoners, the Nobles got the good food.” – “House of... What? Like... actual Nobles? I thought we got rid of them?” Wladimir asked, confused. Though he felt stupid immediately after. The Wizards lived in secrecy, why should any revolution reach their society? “Well, a lot of Wizards and Witches belong to ancient houses, that can trace back their lineage hundreds of years. Minister Prince Khilkov for example can trace his family back to the fall of Constantinople and before. At least he claims to. Some people though, like all of us Witches apart from Sergey, are born to non-magical parents. Nobody knows how exactly this happens. We are sorted into the Common House, along with the illegitimate children of Nobles and everyone else not fitting the title ‘Noble’. Mainly female half-bloods.” Polina sighed deeply, looking at her shoes, “We slept on straw mattresses, had to eat the leftovers from the Nobles and generally were looked down upon. Still are, even after school. At least Durm- our school recognizes power and if you succeeded they grudgingly respected you. That being said, compared to the Nobles our education was sub-par.”

Wladimir didn’t know what to say to that. A society that could do literal magic, like in fairy-tales and so much more, still treated people that way? The Witch looked at him again and said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to rant. To get back to the food, the quality of our rations just reminded me about school. Although I shouldn’t really complain I guess, we’re at war and the Muggles are eating the same after all...” She trailed off. Wladimir was lost in his thoughts about the parallel-society he just learned about, but the silence between them wasn’t oppressive.

He finally looked up at her, “If I may ask...” She raised an eyebrow but nodded, “I know that you call, err, normal people ‘Muggles’. But your parents weren’t magical, yes? Isn’t that a bit... Don’t you alienate yourself from your family with that?” Polina looked at him for a few seconds before chuckling, “Well, there isn’t really a better way. ‘Non-magical’ is a bit of a mouthful and ‘Muggle’ is a neutral term. And while I love my family...” She stopped, a sad look on her face. Wladimir remembered their conversation near Kamenyy, she was Jewish! He jumped up, struggling to apologize, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize- That is, I didn’t want to... Fuck, I apologize. I didn’t want to make you sad.” She looked up again and a small smile crept onto her face, no doubt caused by his spluttering. “It’s ok, I just remembered them. Last I know is they made it safely out of Berdychiv. It’s just...” She seemed sad again, but this time continued, “When you enter the magical world, whether you want to or not, you can’t really escape it. During school, which lasts from August to June, you are away from your family. Even for the holidays, should you celebrate them. After finishing, well...” Polina laughed bitterly, “I only went to ‘regular’ school until I was eleven and the official records about me end there. It’s not like I can show up somewhere, having only concluded the beginning level. I could forge documents, but if they catch you doing that, you’ll get fined. Or, more likely, you go to prison, since the fine is so expensive. So you’ll have to stay in the world you were introduced to at age eleven...”

Wladimir was silent at that. He had no idea this society worked like that. They somehow had the amazing gift of magic and still they chose to divide themselves? It just didn’t make sense to him. Polina startled him out of his thoughts, “It’s... nice to talk about it with someone. Someone non-magical. Someone you haven’t known for 10 years or longer.” She smiled again. Wladimir turned away, suddenly very interested where Leshy went off too. The witch chuckled, “Anyway what about your family? Are they safe?” He sighed, still looking for the Kneazle. He didn’t really want to talk about that particular topic, but she told him about her family and magical society. He shrugged, looking back at her, “Safe enough, I suppose. They live in a small village near Kazan, the frontline never reached that far.” He, too, laughed bitterly, “If I had a boat, I could just go up the Volga and be home again.” Polina, too, smiled.

Wladimir felt the atmosphere relax more and more as they talked a bit about their families. When Ms. Ozerkova called Polina over to her, the Witch seemed reluctant to leave, though Wladimir thought her hesitation might have to do with her task. He waved goodbye and turned to his remaining meal. It’s nice, he thought, talking about mundane things and not being threatened or screamed at. If only things would stay this way...

\----------

Natalya looked up from her journal, surveying the room. When she began writing today, light came in through the windows and the common room was deserted. She gladly had claimed an armchair for herself, happy about the silence. Now it was dark outside and her friends sat in groups, talking and playing card games. She smiled as she looked back down at today’s entry. She originally decided to start a journal after the first mission and it really helped calm her down. Then she began writing about how the unit had started, their training and all subsequent missions. She had become the official secret Night-Witches-chronicler. Natalya smiled. Maybe, when all this was over, someone would read about their struggle. She’d just have to find a publisher outside of the Russian Ministry’s jurisdiction. A publisher that wasn’t afraid of the eventual backlash, considering the rules they were breaking. Her smile faltered... Maybe just a unit-internal-release, she decided. Or the Americans, they publish anything...

"Hey there, Elena Aprélevna. Finished for today?” Sergey said, using his wand to drag a chair over to him. He sat down and looked at her with a neutral expression, although his eyes seemed angry. “Oh, hi Sergey. I’m finished for today, yes.” The Noble leaned closer, waving his wand. Natalya felt the silencing charm around her. She swallowed. This won’t end well, she thought. “How was your little... stroll the other night?” The man asked, looking her in the eyes. “What do you mean, Sergey? Can’t a Witch take a nightly walk around the base to calm her nerves while her friends are flying a mission?” Natalya answered, hoping her nervousness didn’t show in her voice. Her thoughts were racing. Sergey obviously knew what she had done, after all she had argued with him. But why was he bringing it up now?

The former noble leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving her. “Oh, right. You walked around the base. The first spell I could cast was a silencing charm, so why don’t we talk openly? What did you do, you foolish woman?” - “I healed the wounded soldiers, you cold-hearted bastard!” Natalya spat, leaning forward. She wanted nothing more than to stand up in rage, but the others would surely look and notice the spell. “I apparated, did what I wanted to do and left without anyone knowing that I’m a Witch.” - “And I’m supposed to believe that? You know that if your apparition inside a Muggle-zone is registered, we’ll all be in deep shit? We and the whole government?”

Natalya scoffed. “What do I care about the government? They betrayed us! Fuck them! And do you honestly think they monitor war-zones?” - “I want you to be more careful! And I want you to never do something like that again! I really don’t want to inform Ms. Bershanskaya, but-” Suddenly Natalya forgot the need to act normal. Her chair fell over backwards as she shot up, glaring down at the man, “You fucking coward!”, she shouted, “You want to betray me? Go ahead! Tell Yevdokia that I broke the Statute of Secrecy! But if you do that, you better sleep with your eyes open, you inbred asshole!”

Suddenly she felt the silencing-spell being cancelled. She looked to her left and saw Yevdokia standing there, wand in hand. “Is there a problem? And why the secrecy? Are you two dating?” She teased, but her smile fell as she felt the animosity between the two. Natalya looked back at Sergey, who looked shocked at his spell being broken. “We are not dating. But if there is a problem, I’m sure that Sergey will speak up.” At her glare the man seemed to shrink a bit, before standing up and turning to Yevdokia, “No, there is no problem. The background noise was just too much. If you’ll excuse me.” He gave a small bow and left.

Natalya looked back at her commander and saw the worry on her face, “Tali, I don’t want to insult your taste in men, but… Is he acting so strange because you two _are_ dating?” Natalya laughed, “No, nothing of the sort. Really. I’m not his sister, so it’s not like I’ve got any chances to begin with.” - “But what was that about?” - “Like he said, it really is a bit loud in here. I'm getting a headache, I think I’ll go outside a bit, see what Wladimir is up to. I like to clear my head before flying.”

When she was outside, the young Witch inhaled deeply. The night air was cool and calmed her down nicely. I’ll have to keep my eye on Sergey, she decided. At least he was decent enough not to bring it up to Yevdokia with her standing there, but she didn’t trust the Noble. Maybe he’d find something funny in his water one of these days…

\----------

“Yes! Yes! Ohhhh Yesss! YESSSSS!” The muffled yells turned every head in the common room, including Polina’s. The women looked at each other questioningly. “Was… Was that what I think it was?” Tatyana asked, her card game with Vera suddenly forgotten. “By Koshei, I hope you’re wrong. Was that Serafima?” Polina answered, “Do… should we…”

Her sentence was cut short when a door was thrown open and Serafima entered the room, hair in disarray and a wide smile on her face. “I did it, guys!” She beamed. “Fima, please tell me _‘_ _it’_ wasn’t Sergey.” Vera said, voice serious. The young woman looked confused. “Huh? Sergey wasn’t what? How would that even work in this instance?” - “You… didn’t just, you know… because we heard…” - “Oh, I most certainly did it!” Serafima beamed, “I built myself a functioning magical camera from scratch! Took me almost two months to individually and permanently transfigure all the parts, but I did it! Now I just need the development-potion and the thing’s ready!”

The common room was quiet for a few seconds, then erupted in laughter, Polina joining in. Fima could be so clueless at times, especially about certain topics. “What? What’s so funny guys?” Serafima asked the room, looking confused again. “We… we thought you… never mind!” Tatyana managed between laughs.

After some minutes everybody had calmed down again. Polina wiped a tear from her face and asked, still chuckling, “Why did you build a camera, Fima? Do you need a hobby?” - “Well, I just thought… we don’t know how long this… war will last and maybe our families would like some pictures, you know? To know that we are safe? Koliada is coming up. And maybe we’d like some mementos too…” Polina grinned widely, “That’s a wonderful idea! Come, let’s tell Yevdokia!”

As she walked in search of her commander, Polina thought about how some people could still surprise you after years and years. Also, how some people still managed to stay relatively innocent in this war. Polina dearly hoped that her friend could stay that way. They all certainly had needed the laugh...

\----------

Now winter was finally here, Sofiya thought. October so far had been as expected, lots of clouds and rain that had finally turned into snow three days ago. In a way it helped them, since the targets were easier to spot on the white ground. But the air also got progressively colder and she had to reapply and enhance all the warming charms on their clothes, even on their underwear. That had been a nice afternoon…

She looked to the city in the early evening light. The gentle snowfall was obscuring the permanent smoke, but the explosions could still be seen against the clouds. She wondered how much longer the fighting would last. According to Yevdokia, the Red Army was still fighting tooth and nail to hold every centimetre of ground and had managed, against all odds, to stop the German offensive. But would the battle transform into trench warfare, like in the Great War? How many more would die until the battle was lost or won, not just from artillery and bullets, but hypothermia and hunger? On both sides?

“Sofiya! Hey!” She heard Khiuaz call out behind her. She smiled to herself, thinking of her friend and turned around. Suddenly her vision exploded in white and she fell backwards, landing heavily in the fresh snow. She coughed and wiped at her face while sitting back up, only to hear hysterical laughter. Khiuaz stood not ten metres away from her, doubled over and laughing so hard, tears ran down her cheeks. “I… I got.. you… right… in the… face!” She managed between her laughter.

Sofiya wiped the remnants of the snowball from her face and stood up, her face burning with rage and from the cold. “Khuiaz! What the hell? How can you be so childish?” She asked. “I… I went to fetch you. Come on! Back to the base.” Her friend replied, still chuckling. “Why?” Sofiya asked warily, “Are you luring me into an ambush?” - “No, I promise. We’re taking the photograph today, don’t you remember?” - “That was today?”, Sofiya sighed, “Ok, let’s go then. But I’ll get you back for that!”

After a short walk both saw the Regiment already assembled in front of the shed, all wearing their flying gear. Sofiya quickly went inside to get changed. She left the shed with a smile on her face. Everyone had looked forward to this day for some time now. Apparently, Serafima finally figured out how to charm the camera for a timed release and make the required potion to develop the pictures in. Suddenly, she had an idea. If they took a picture, they needed the right background. They were pilots, after all. She quickly ran to “her” tent and got a spare broom. “What are you doing now? Do you want to bomb me?” Khiuaz laughed as she returned. “No, that would be too easy.” She approached Serafima, who was setting up the camera. “Fima, hey! If we are pilots, should we really have the shed in the background? How about I alter the disillusionment-charm on this broom to make it look like the Muggle-plane we’re flying for everybody?” The other woman was silent for a few seconds and then smiled, “That’s a great idea, Sofiya! We’ll stand a bit further from the shed and a bit to the side, so both are in the picture. Just place the thing where Alexandra is standing right now.”

Sofiya grinned and went to work. A quick modified disillusionment-spell later, a Polikarpov Po-2 stood in front of the shed. She heard Marina whistle, “And they think we’re flying those? No wonder they don’t seem to hit us, the thing’s huge!” - “Honestly, it’s like you’ve never seen a plane before, Marina,” Sofiya chided, “You should see the Petlyakov Pe-8, it’s got a wingspan of almost 40 metres.” - “All right, I’ll read up on my planes, oh mighty expert of things flying.” Marina laughed, raising her hands in defeat.

After five more minutes the camera was set up and everybody was in position. They wore their flying outfits and stood in two rows: The kneeling front row consisted of Yevdokia in the middle, holding a sign reading “588th Night Bomber Regiment - Night Witches”. Next to her were Marina, Serafima, and Valentina. The second row stood and consisted of Olga, Aleksandra, Khiuaz, Polina with Leshy on her shoulders, Wladimir, Natalya, Sergey, Tatyana and Vera. Sofiya stood on the lower wing of the plane behind the second row, waving at the camera.

The timed stasis-charm ran out, a bright flash and the picture was taken. For all that preparation, the actual moment sure felt anticlimactic, Sofiya thought as she jumped down from the wing. The other Witches didn’t seem to mind, they hung around, talking, joking, petting Leshy. She stood there, looking at the transfigured broom and thought about how to best turn it back. From the corner of her eye she saw Khiuaz walking over to her, still smiling. She slowly exhaled, enjoying the mood. If only things stayed that way...

\----------

It’s funny how little things change here, Yevdokia thought as she entered General Zhukov’s War Room. The same lightbulb, the same tired expression on his face, the same feeling of grim determination in the room. Only his uniform seemed to get more wrinkled each time. Wait, is that a new medal?

“Ah, Ms. Bershanskaya. Congratulations,” General Zhukov said, briefly looking up from his sacred table, voice not matching the cheerful words, “The few positions we still hold near ‘Pavlov’s House’, as it is now called, reported a successful drop. I’m sure our trapped platoons would thank you too if they had communication.” He paused, looking up again. “Ah, well, thank you, General of the Army Zhukov.” Yevdokia replied, nodding. “That’s it with special missions for the time being, but something unexpected might happen at any time and you will keep ready. Now come here.” She stepped to the table, “Large parts of the city are now in fascist hands. Mainly the centre and the south. The northern parts will likely be their next targets, mainly the Red October Steel Factory here, the Stalingrad Tractor Works here and the Barrikady Arms Factory over here. Their main supply lines most likely come from the west over these streets here, in the suburbs. For the next three to five nights, bomb every vehicle you see on those roads. Trucks, motorcycles, cars, doesn’t matter. Questions?”

Yevdokia looked at the map. The indicated streets would be easy to spot from above, they seemed to be main roads. But in some parts they were dangerously close to German strongpoints. That meant searchlights and AA. She cleared her throat and began cautiously, “Well, General, the roads are dangerously close to German AA guns in some parts, I fear that-“ – “Then don’t bomb next to the AA! Do I really have to tell you this?” He interrupted angrily. Yevdokia wanted to give him a piece of her mind. She surely knew better what AA guns could do compared to the General. But, she thought, he’s giving the orders here and he can kick us out of the war. She swallowed, a sudden bitter taste in her mouth. “I’m sorry, General. No questions.” Zhukov looked her in the eyes for a few moments, the threat clear to her. Then he nodded, “Further orders over the wire if necessary. Good hunting! Dismissed.”

As Yevdokia left HQ she thought about her dreams these last days. The darkness surrounding her, the sudden balls of flame appearing in the sky, shrapnel flying everywhere... She shuddered. Everything will be ok, she told herself. It would have to be...

\----------

End Note: Yes, I really did research the rations of the Red Army. The “somewhat historically accurate” tag is not just for show.

End Note 2: I don’t know if I’m allowed to link pictures, but just google “night witches group photo” if your imagination needs some references. In my mind it looks like a mixture of those pictures.


	11. A November Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A common Noble; Pastimes; A bright sky; Education

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: And now the big one-one. And another Kudo! Statistically I’ve got one Kudo per chapter, which is very cool! This one is a bit Yevdokia-heavy, but she is the leader after all.
> 
> T.W.: Graphic descriptions of injury

Chapter 11 - A November Night

“Sergey? Are you in there? I’ll come in, ok?” Marina shouted, knocking against the flap of the tent, her voice worried. Sergey had been even more reclusive than before lately, and now nobody had seen him for two days, not even during mealtime. She had been chosen to check up on him, and although she would never admit it openly, she worried about him. Ever since they had been expelled from their community he seemed… erratic. Sometimes helping them or at least talking to them, other times shouting at them, like he did recently with Natalya. So she stood in front of “his” tent, which housed the potion-lab, knocking to no avail.

She drew her wand and performed a rudimentary check before entering. Warding potion-labs was a beloved tradition that could end badly if you forgot to check the doors. Upon entering she found him slumped over his desk, his head on his arms and snoring. His clothes were in disarray and his hair hung loose about his face, but the lab was, strangely enough, clean and organized. Even the desk he was sleeping on was organized with the row of empty vials in front of his head. She sighed and poked him hard in the side. He shot up too quickly and fell over backwards. “Fuck! What the fuck do you think-… Oh, Ms. Raskowa.” He rubbed his face and Marina saw his bloodshot eyes. “Good morning Sergey. You look like shit.” She said, trying to be funny. He doesn’t look well, she thought, he could use a laugh.

Sergey stood up and groaned, “No shit. What do you want?” - “We are worried about you, Sergey. Nobody has seen you for two days. Did you drink all those vials?” Marina asked, gesturing to the desk, looking into his eyes. The former noble looked away, “No, and besides that’s not your concern either.” He answered too quickly, picked up the chair and sat down again, still groaning. Marina sighed again, why did men never want to talk about things is something was wrong? She tried again, “Look, like I said we worry about you.” Sergey snorted, but she continued, “We really do. So if there’s anything wrong, you know you can talk about it, right?” - “Oh, really?” He answered sarcastically, “I can just go to anyone of you, whom I’ve known for less than a year, and talk about my problems?” He stood up again and began pacing, “About how because of you I’ve lost everything? About how every time I want to help you I somehow fuck it up? About how I can’t even have small-talk because no one trusts me? About how I robbed my own uncle to get supplies for you and not even a thank you? How I’ve tried to live as a Commoner since summer and I fucking hate it?! About how it doesn’t matter either way, because I’ll never get my old life back?” He stopped and looked at her, a desperate edge to his gaze, “Yes, I would very much want to talk about it, Ms. Raskowa.”

Marina swallowed. That certainly wasn’t how she’d imagined this would go. And she certainly had no idea he felt that way, how could she if he never talked to them? “Ah… well…” she began haltingly, “I mean… We… It’s sad that you lost everything because of us, Sergey, and at least I feel genuinely sorry for that. But… I mean, like they say ‘Look at the silver lining’. You can live your life now free of all that aristocratic bullshit. No, it is bullshit and we both know it.” She quickly added when his face darkened, “Why not just… I don’t know, be yourself? Just… go out and talk to us. You are a member of our team. You had no influence on that decision, but that’s how it is. Do you think any of us are better off than you? What with also being expelled _and_ the war threatening our families?” At that Sergey sat down again, his head hanging low. “It’s just… What the fuck should I do…”, he said quietly.

Marina inhaled deeply. She had asked herself that exact question more times than she could count. At least in that regard she could give him some advice, “You just continue fighting, Sergey. Continue living your life. You and us Night Witches, we can’t stop now. We began fighting to protect our families, and we can’t stop until we win this war.”- “And what am I fighting for?” Sergey asked, looking up. “Only you can answer that. Fight for us, for our cause. Fight to piss off the Ministry and the Nobility. Fight for Leshy’s sake for all I care. The important thing is that you fight. We need you. You can’t make portkeys and potions if you’re drowning in self pity, can you?” She finished, smiling at him. Sergey scoffed again, but she could see the beginnings of a smile on his face, “Yes, the Ministry…”, he murmured, more to himself.

Marina felt relieved. If he could smile again, however small, maybe he would pull through. She made her way to the tent-flap and looked back a final time, “Just… make an effort is all I’m saying. Think about what I’ve said and what you want to do. But please do it quickly, or the next visit will be from Yevdokia.” She grinned and left the tent, leaving the former Noble to his thoughts. She hoped he would snap out of it, if only for his own sake. She had seen enough depression and self-pity in her life to know where that road lead. Marina went off in search of her commander to give her report on Operation “Where is Sergey?”. All in all it was a success, she thought.

\----------

Once again, Yevdokia was at the HQ. Once again an overworked aide ushered her into the war-room. Once again she saluted upon entering, looking around. But this day was different, there was another officer in the room. “Comrade Lieutanant Colonel Bershanskaya, welcome. This is Chief of the General Staff Aleksandr Vasilevsky.” General Zhukov greeted her. The other man smiled at her and waved her to the table. “A pleasure to meet you, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel. I have heard a lot of good things about your Regiment, the,” he chuckled, “’Night Witches’. You are scaring the Germans quite a bit. You’ll be of much use to our efforts in the coming weeks. Please look at this map here.”

Yevdokia saw a map of the general area surrounding the city of Stalingrad. She knew the front-lines well at this point, but there were a lot of arrows coming from the lines of the Red Army. She looked up at the Generals. Vasilevsky smiled and nodded, “Yes, we’re counter-attacking. ‘Operation Uranus’. From everywhere troops have been assembled to turn the tide in this war. You’ll fly support for us during the night, weakening the German lines for our attacks the next day.” He pulled out another map, showing the southern parts of the city, “Your main focus for the first week or so will be here, in the Kirovsky and Betanovka areas. You’ll support our 64th Army there and, after the German lines have been pierced, you’ll be relocated to your usual area north of Stalingrad. There you’ll support the 65th Army, heading south.” He looked up at her, his face now serious. “If ‘Operation Uranus’ is successful, we’ll have the entire German 6th Army trapped inside the city and we’ll have the rest of them on the defence. This could turn the tide and you’ll do everything humanly possible to ensure our success.” General Zhukov cleared his throat, “I don’t have to tell you how important this Operation is and how much we value your contributions to this war. Unfortunately I have to inform you that, beginning with ‘Operation Uranus’, you’ll fly all night, sunset to sunrise.”

Yevdokia was doubly shocked. The first shock was a pleasant one, finally they would attack rather than defend. This operation promised an end to the occupation of Stalingrad, and may really turn the tide. But the second shock… Flying all night?! “General of the Army, I… We can’t fly all night. It’s just too much strain-” Zhukov banged his hand against the table. He looked at her with his cold, determined eyes but didn’t raise his voice, “Let me tell you about strain. I just visited the front-lines. Our brave soldiers are fighting the enemy with everything they got, men and women! They don’t know peaceful sleep because of German artillery and air-superiority! They are cold and hungry because our supply-lines get bombed to fuck! They fight the enemy with bayonets if they need to! With shovels and bare hands, for fuck's sake! And _you_ , Lieutenant Colonel, will show the same level of dedication I expect from everyone of my soldiers! And you further will not question my orders in front of the Chief of the General Staff! Am I understood?”

Yevdokia swallowed. What was it about this man that… almost frightened her when he got angry? She was a wizard, she could have hexed him to next week before he drew his service weapon, but… His eyes, and his determination… They still scared her. She swallowed again, “I’m sorry, General of the Army. We will fly all night as ordered.” The other officer, Vasilevsky, looked not as scary. His face even showed compassion, as he smiled reassuringly, “We all have to do our part, Lieutenant Colonel. I’m sorry that you and your planes will have to endure such strain, but it can’t be helped if we want to win. As a… consolation of sorts, the General and I have agreed to give you the next two days off. That is, you’ll still fly tonight, but the following two you stay on the ground. Anything to add, Georgy?” He asked. General Zhukov still looked angry, “Use your free time wisely. ‘Operation Uranus’ starts on the morning of the 19th and we won’t stop until we’ve either got them encircled or we’re all dead. You'll get your orders on the 18th, once they're finalized, so be ready then. Dismissed, and good hunting for tonight."

As she left the HQ Yevdokia thought about the best way to tell her Witches the news. The counter-offensive would be celebrated, but… flying all night for Gods knew how long… Sergey would need to brew a barrel of pepper-up. For starters…

\----------

“What do you think is taking her so long?” Sofiya asked and reclined in her chair again. “I don’t know, maybe they’re promoting her.” Marina answered, throwing down another card. “We should transfigure a chess set or something. I don’t think I can take another day of Durak.” Khuiaz offered, but made her turn regardless. “It’s strange, isn’t it? We’ve got all this free-time and yet no one has transfigured another game. Aren’t we wizards?” Sofiya laughed. Now that she thought about it, it was strange that they only played cards. Not that she minded. Maybe she’d ask Serafima for a chess set, she was good with skillful transfigurations…

The game progressed in silence for a few minutes. When they heard the door open, all heads turned, but it was just Sergey. He seemed to have cleaned himself up somewhat, at least his hair was tied back and he had started shaving again, at least his cheeks. This goatee suits him better anyway, Sofiya thought as he stood in the door, looking around the common room. “Koshei’s balls, close the door! It just got warm in here!” Khiuaz said, turning back to the game. Sergey startled, but closed the door quickly and then walked over to them. “Good evening. Do you know where Ms. Bershanskaya is?” he asked no one in particular. “She still hasn’t returned from HQ.” Sofiya answered him. “Oh… well, thank you.” Sergey said. He looks sad, Sofiya thought. She wondered what was going on inside him. He seemed… erratic lately.

Just as he turned away from them, Marina spoke up, “Hey, Sergey! Nice goatee!" She laughed, "Want to play a few hands with us? She’ll come here first thing when she returns, you can wait with us.” Sofiya and Khiuaz both looked at her, the former with interest, the latter with barely concealed shock. Sergey froze in his turn, considering the offer. After a few seconds he answered, “No, thank you, I’m not good with card games. But if you have a chess set, I’ll play you. Don’t let me disturb you, I’ll wait outside for her.” He made his way over to the door and disappeared again.

“Marina, do you want to ruin our fun? Or do you want to play for money and rip him off? Then you have to tell us so we can coordinate!” Khiuaz said, still with some shock in her voice. Marina smiled, “No, and I doubt he has much money left anyway. He just seems… sad lately and I thought playing cards might cheer him up.” - “Well, thankfully he doesn’t play. Who’s turn was it?” Khiuaz said, turning back to the game. “I think it was mine,” Sofiya answered, “And Marina’s right, he does seem a bit down. Maybe we’ll take him up on that chess game, who’s the best among us?”

The rest of the evening until Yevdokia’s arrival was spent in discussing chess players and their odds against Sergey, as well as who could transfigure the best set. They didn’t reach a conclusion, but agreed that they would definitely beat him. Still, Sofiya wondered, would that help cheer him up or drive him deeper into his sadness, losing against a Muggle-born Witch...

\----------

The night was cold, but at least the snowfall had stopped as the Night Witches assembled for their last flight before their surprise vacation. The mood was good, and already at least five snowballs had been thrown, to the amusement of the crowd. Yevdokia grinned, she would leave her Witches their fun. They still had about ten minutes until she wanted to take off. Leshy ran around between them, tying to cath the snowballs with his mouth or protecting Polina from them. The Kneazle had gotten really close to her lately, preferring her shoulders to lie on over everybody else. He had shed his summer-fur and looked even more adorable in his thicker and longer winter-fur, a black mass with two glowing green eyes on the grey snow.

Yevdokia saw Sergey walking over to her. They exchanged nods, but the man looked at Natalya. “Ms. Meklin, before you fly tonight I just want to say… I’m sorry about what I said the other day. I don’t expect your forgiveness, but please know that I’m sorry.” He looked at Yevdokia, “Ms. Bershanskaya, I would like to volunteer to transport the supplies to our base tomorrow. I think you all should rest after a night of flying.”

Yevdokia felt her mouth open. Was this really ‘Sullen Sergey’, as they dubbed him? And what did he say to Natalya? “I… Well, if that is alright with you, Sergey… Of course you can fetch the supplies. The truck arrives between ten and twelve on most days. Be at the northern corner of Kamenyy, there’s a crossroads.” The man nodded, turned around and left quickly without another word. “What was that about?” She heard Natalya ask. “I’m as surprised as you. What exactly did he say to you, Tali?” Yevdokia asked, turning to her caster. The other woman still looked after the Noble, “That’s between him and me.” - “Tali…” - “Please, leave it be Yevdokia.” Her friend said, turning to face her. Yevdokia studied her friends face but could see no clues in her expressions. She nodded, “Ok, but if you want to talk about it, you can always come to me.” When she saw Natalya nod, Yevdokia turned her head to the assembled Night Witches again. “All right, ladies!” She shouted, “Make ready! No German will sleep tonight! And after that, we’ll all have two days off! So stay safe, I want to play a round of Quidditch with you tomorrow!” Six brooms rose to the dark skies, laughter filling the area. They’d earn their vacation…

\----------

“There! Ahead of us and bit to the left! Those tents are our final target!” Yevdokia shouted, “We’ll bomb and then fly straight on! No observing of the results! Low and fast, Night Witches!” The other five brooms acknowledged the order, turning with their leader.

This night had been good so far, the young woman thought. There had been some AA, but it seemed disorganized, and searchlights had been completely absent so far. Maybe the General’s information was wrong? Or maybe the Germans had moved their AA nearer to the city? Who knew, as long as it stays this way I don’t care, she decided.

The target consisted of a small village of tents and trucks, likely a depot or a repair station. It wouldn’t really matter, in less than a minute it would all be craters and smouldering debris. Yevdokia grinned. The anticipation before the attack exited her more and more lately. The knowledge that the Germans didn’t suspect they were coming, that they couldn’t see them against the dark sky, that they wouldn’t sleep again this night… She forced herself away from that train of thought. Right now she needed to concentrate on flying and giving orders.

“Be ready! Wait… Wait… Cast!” As always the ground exploded beneath them, balls of fire lighting the sky. Still though, it seemed brighter this time. Maybe they’d hit a fuel-depot. The grin returned to her face. The bastards wouldn’t like that…

The run was over as quickly as always and the Witches cheered. Yevdokia decided to let them for a few seconds before ordering silence. They’d earned it.

Suddenly the sky lit up ahead of them. Searchlights went on about 2km in front of them, pillars of light against the dark night. They didn’t just light the sky, but also the complex around them. A small city of tents, structures and vehicles. It looked like a staging area, the tents and vehicles standing in neat rows, trenches and barbed wire surrounding the outskirts.

As soon as the lights went on, the cheering died. “Fuck! What’s that?” - “What do we do? - “Koshei’s balls!” - “Yevdokia! What do we do?!” It was chaos, nobody had expected to find something like that. The commander of the Night Witches was frozen for a few seconds. How didn’t she see that? What did she do now? Fly high or low, left or right? “Yevdokia, what do we do?” Her caster Natalya shouted right in her ear. “I… we… Right! Turn right! Split up, fly low and fast! Go!” She ordered as she turned her broom around. In the short span of time she was paralyzed they had come so much closer to the base. She could see soldiers running to their positions, AA guns turning to and fro, the searchlights scanning the sky.

Then her vision went white for a second. “Fuck!” she yelled. Her goggles adjusted to the new conditions and she turned her head to look at the base. The other searchlights were turning towards them, as well as the AA guns. “They spotted us! Fly faster! Fly east! Don’t fly in a straight line!” She ordered as the first bursts of tracer rounds sped towards them, going wide for now.

It was just like in her dreams. She was alone in the dark sky, dark clouds appeared next to her, the exploding sounds swallowed by the wind. She turned her broom left and right as fast as she could, but the two passengers and the enchantments made it sluggish. She felt tears inside her goggles. Please, Gods, she prayed silently, please let me survive this. I’m too young to die here! The war isn’t over yet! Oh please, please, please…

She heard the yells of her friends in her ear-piece. They blended together to a constant background-noise of terror as the tracers sped past her. Then she heard a “FUCK! AAAHHHH!” that drowned out all the other noise. Someone was hit! Her panic grew as she continued her escape.

Then the sky was dark again. No tracers, no searchlights, no black clouds of shrapnel, just grey clouds and silence. She slowed down and looked around. She could see some dark dots against the coulds. Those must be her Witches! “Everyone! Quiet down! Regroup on me! I said quiet down!” She ordered. The noise died down, albeit slowly. “Is everyone alright?” Four brooms answered. But Number four, Sofiya, didn’t report. Her panic flared up again. “Sofiya? Sofiya, are you alright? Talk to me!” No one answered, the quiet was almost unnatural, as if everyone was holding their breath at the same time. Then a voice sounded in her ear-piece, “Dammit! I’m alright, calm down! My broom got hit, but I’ll manage to fly her home. I’ll find the way on my own, I have to hurry.” - “ Ok, but please stay safe!” Yevdokia breathed deeply, trying to calm herself. That had been too close. Thankfully they made it all out. 

Regrouping took a bit of time but soon they were together again and flying towards their base. The mood had darkened, there were no usual cheers, just tense silence. At their base Yevdokia saw Sofiya’s broom already on the ground and four figures standing around it. They all had made it, she thought relieved.

She landed and immediately made her way over to her friend. Sofiya turned around from her broom and Yevdokia stopped in her tracks. Her friend’s coat was splattered with blood and her left hand was wrapped in a dirty bandage. What had happened, she told her that she was fine? Sofiya looked sheepishly at her, then at the ground, “So… I didn’t want to worry you. It’s not that bad, really…” - “Valentina!” Yevdokia shouted immediately. Then, turning to her friend, “Not that bad?! I’m the commander, Sofiya! When I ask if everyone’s alright, I deserve the truth!” - “I know, but you’ve got so much to worry about already-” - “That’s my job as commander, dammit! I worry so you don’t have to! And  _your_ job is to tell me the truth when I ask! ” - “Understood.” Sofiya said with a small voice, still looking down.

Yevdokia immediately felt bad, “Look, Sofiya,” she started with a softer voice, “I didn’t mean to yell at you. But I worry about you. I’m happy that nothing worse has happened, but still… You need to answer me truthfully when we’re on a mission, ok?” The other Witch looked up and nodded. “How did that even happen?” - “Well…” Sofiya began as Valentina arrived to look at her hand, “When they started shooting I went right and descended. I hoped I could get under their angle of elevation when- Ow! Watch it, Valentina!- when one of those exploding rounds burst right under the tip of my broom. It ripped away the first ten centimetres or so of wood, and I guess two of my fingers as well, but… I had other problems. The tip holds one of the enchantments and it was all I could do to keep number four flying. I honestly didn’t even realize I was wounded until we landed, I swear.” - “She’s right, Yevdokia. I was sitting behind her and even I didn’t notice. But I was distracted, the flight home was really scary.” Polina, Sofiya’s caster, offered.

The commander sighed. Of course Sofiya, broom-head that she was, didn’t notice. She turned to Valentina, who was still treating the hand. It looked awful, the glove was ripped and drenched with blood. The ring finger and little finger were severed right at the hand, just small, bloody stumps remaining that still oozed blood. Yevdokia felt sick. “How… How are you not screaming in agony right now?” she asked. “ I guess the cold wind numbed my hand quite a bit. Also Sergey gave me a pain-reliever. I honestly feel a bit giggly.” The other witch chuckled. Yevdokia sighed, “How bad is it, Valentina?” - “Well, I finally managed to stop the bleeding completely, that’s good. But I don’t have much experience with this kind of injury. I can heal the… the stumps just fine, but I don’t know if, or even how, I could regrow the fingers.” The commander looked around. It was a long shot but it might work. “Sergey, do you know how to regrow fingers?” The Wizard shook his head, “No. There’s a potion to reattach limbs that’s fairly easy to brew, but without the fingers… I’m sorry, Ms. Bershanskaya.”

At this point all the other Night Witches had assembled around them, talking in low voices. Yevdokia looked at Sofiya again who was smiling. “I’m sorry, Sofiya… But… Why are you smiling?” - “Hm? Oh, it just occurred to me that I can’t get married now without my ring finger. Guess my mother won’t be happy…” Yevdokia shook her head, a smile forming on her face despite the situation. “Ok, no more strong potions for you. The rest of you, give her some space, come on.”

As the landing area cleared only Sofiya, Yevdokia, Valentina and Khiuaz remained. “I… I’m glad you’re alright, Sofiya. But… ah…” The latter began, tears in her eyes. Yevdokia looked at Valentina, motioning to the shed with her head. The other Witch nodded, “I’m finished for now, Sofiya. Drink a blood-replenisher and half a pain-reliever if you need to before you go to bed and it should heal nicely. And... sorry that I couldn’t do more.” - “It’s alright, really. Thank you for doing what you could.” Sofiya smiled.

As she walked to the shed with Valentina, Yevdokia thought about the night. It was inevitable that people got hurt in war, it had already happened to them. She knew that. But still… It was her responsibility. She had known about the AA-situation in that area. She should have foreseen something like that. It was her fault that Sofiya lost two fingers and her beloved broom. She didn’t seem upset, but Yevdokia suspected the pain-reliever was to blame for that.

Before she entered the shed she looked back. The two Witches had embraced each other, but Khiuaz seemed to be crying against her friend. Yevdokia turned again and entered the shed. If Khuiaz felt so sad about the injury, she could imagine how Sofiya might react tomorrow. Maybe I need some dreamless-sleep, she thought as she entered the common room. She’d already lived her nightmare tonight…

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Wladimir stared in awe at the figures flying over the steppe. They sped up and slowed down, changed direction faster than any planer ever could, dodged, rolled, stood still in the air… He was more than a bit jealous. The view definitely made up for the… port-key-thing that had transported them there. Though the sensation of a hook behind your navel yanking you hundreds of kilometres away in just a second almost made him throw up his breakfast.

This morning he wanted to sleep in, enjoying the first day off, maybe read a little more, avoid that infernal cat as good as possible… Instead an ecstatic Polina made his bed flip and informed him that they were going to play a game called… he couldn’t pronounce it. He had to eat his meal in five minutes before they made him touch an old shoe for almost a minute. Then he’d been yanked away and found himself face on the ground somewhere in the steppe behind the Volga. Though the game so far more than made up for the inconveniences he’d endured.

“Hey? Are you listening?” Sofiya’s voice startled him from his thoughts. “Wha-? Oh, yes, sorry. The Chasers have to throw that… red ball through the hoops, I got that. But why is there a stone flying around?” - “Those are normally called ‘Bludgers’, they are enchanted to knock players off their brooms. In regular games they’re balls of iron. The two Beaters, or one in our case, have to keep them away from their team.” - “But isn’t that dangerous?” - “The players wear thick clothes, don’t worry. No one has died from a Bludger in years, at least not in professional Quidditch. Now, normally there would be a small golden ball with wings, about this big, called the ‘Snitch’. The two Seekers have to catch it to end the game and also get 150 points. But we’re playing five against five with one referee today, so there’s only three Chasers, one Beater and one Keeper per team.”

Wladimir nodded, turning back to the game. They Wizards not only had their own society, they also had their own sports. Did they do anything like normal people, like Muggles? He almost yelled out in fear as the flying stone almost hit a Witch in the head. “Oh, that was close!” Sofiya said next to him, “You go, Vera! Very nice roll! Graceful as ever!” - “She could have died!” Wladimir said, looking at his companion. “Relax, the stone has a cushioning-charm on it. It still would hurt, but she wouldn’t even bleed, let alone get a fracture.” The young Witch laughed. Wladimir immediately felt stupid again, as he often did when he talked about magic. Of course they wouldn't risk serious injury in a friendly game of... something. Sofiya happily continued, “That was a good roll Vera showed, but… The brooms are still flying sluggish. I suppose that was to be expected, considering all the enchantments, but you should see a professional team play. They’re doing things in the air that seem like magic even to us!” She turned to him and beamed, “But you’re seeing a historical moment, Wladimir! The first ever Quidditch-game played on war-brooms!” - “If they’re flying like this on ‘sluggish’ brooms, I don’t want to see a professional game. I don't think my nerves could take it.” - “Oh, relax. This is our favourite pastime! Look at how happy they all are!”

The Witches did seem happy indeed, Wladimir thought. Their laughter and their taunts could be heard all over the steppe. Last night the mood had been rather subdued. They encountered AA-fire, Sofiya was hit and lost two fingers. Considering all that, he understood the need to blow off some steam, but still… The young woman standing next to him seemed a bit too happy for him.

“If I may ask,” he began, “Doesn’t it upset you that you can’t play? Considering… well…” - “That I’m injured?” Sofiya’s smile faltered, “I’d like to play, but not really that bad. There will be time for Quidditch after all this and Valentina told me to take it easy during our vacation anyway.” Her smile appeared again, “I’m not in any pain, even without the potions. I can still do everything as good as… before. Thank the Gods I’m right-handed. The only thing that’s upsetting me is that my missing fingers itch like crazy.” Wladimir nodded, “Yes, I heard medics talk about that. ‘Phantom pain’ they call it. Something about nerves being severed or missing. I think it lessens over time. But you’re not upset about your injury at all?” He ventured. The Witch shook her head, “It’s like my mother always says: ‘No use crying over spilled milk. Lick it up and be happy you've got something to eat.’" She laughed, "I’ll adapt soon enough. Maybe I’ll craft a prothesis after the war. Something fancy. Until then I’m just happy I’m alive to be honest.”

Wladimir nodded. He certainly could respect that attitude. But still, he wondered as he watched the game continue, how many more would be injured. How many wouldn’t even see peace again? He wanted them all to survive this, no question about that… But he could still wonder, as he watched them have fun above the white, untouched snow.

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End Note: Things are about to get slowly better, at least for the Red Army. But the hardest part of the Battle of Stalingrad is yet to come. Stay tuned for the start of Operation Uranus next-week-ish.

End Note 2: Before some Nerd corrects me: I know that German AA at that time works a bit different than portrayed in my fic. Proximity fuses for smaller calibre AA shells (less then 8,8cm) weren’t really a thing in ‘42, on the Eastern Front or elsewhere. And the big calibres had timed fuses, since they shot at bombers that were kilometres above the ground. Low flying planes were shot down primarily by direct hits. In my fic it’s a bit like in the war-movies, with black clouds surrounding the low flying planes and all that. That’s called ‘artistic freedom’ and besides, my fic is only ‘somewhat historically accurate’. It‘s an instance of the famous ‘Rule of Cool’. #DealWithIt!


	12. Operation Uranus Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phantom pain; Preparations; A message; Old orders; Morning comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: And right on to a dozen chapters, another Kudo (yay!) and over 250 hits! Nothing more to say here except I hope that you like this one as well.

Chapter 12 – Operation Uranus Part I

Sofiya sighed, and not for the first time today, as she studied her damaged ‘Number 4’. So far, she had spent the better part of the morning and noon in her ‘Hangar’, couched over her project. Sofiya knew that it had to be possible to repair the broom. Those Vedniks were all made from white birch, so getting replacement wood wasn’t difficult. But something in her enchantments resisted against attaching the new broom-tip. Maybe if she took off all the enchantments... but that would still leave the runes to deal with...

It didn’t help that her thoughts kept wandering back to two days ago, when she was wounded. Khiuaz had seemed... really affected by her injury. She absently flexed her left hand as she rose from her crouch. She liked Khiuaz, a lot. She somehow always made her smile, and the ferocity with which she turned on Wladimir when he had laughed about her broom-modifications...

Sofiya thought back to their days at Durmstrang. She had been a second-year student, back in ’33. Khiuaz had just begun at the school that year, a small girl from somewhere in Kazakhstan, lonely and ridiculed for her accent. She took pity on the girl, showed her around the school, showed her how to stand up for herself and from that a friendship developed. They had stayed in touch after school and to Sofiya’s surprise her friend immediately asked to join the Night Witches when she told her.

But lately... Sofiya just didn’t know what to feel. Spending time with her friend, even in the middle of a war, was always nice. Yet, somehow... she felt different about Khiuaz, she noticed different things. How her eyes narrowed when she was laughing, how often they seemed to spend time together, how she tucked her hair behind her ears when she was thinking... How hard Khiuaz had hugged her two days ago, how it seemed to erase all her worries about her injury...

Sofiya flexed her hand more quickly. She didn’t want to think about _that_ right now, she needed to repair her broom! Why did everything have to be so complicated? She was a Witch, she should be able to fix the broom! Or her hand! She should know what to do about Khiuaz! The itching in her missing fingers got worse and slowly changed to pain. She huffed, anger rising inside her. Why did it happen to her? Why did no one know about the huge staging area beyond their last target? Why wasn’t there a spell or a potion to fix things?

She picked up the replacement wood, threw it across the tent and let out a frustrated yell. She approached the broom and kicked it for good measure. It hit the opposite wall and slid to the ground. Her missing fingers now throbbed with pain and she rubbed the stumps, hoping to get the pain to stop.

Suddenly the tent-flap moved and Khiuaz entered. Of course, it had to be her, she thought. “Are you alright, Sofiya?” Her friend asked, clearly worried. She angrily turned towards her friend, “No, I’m not alright! I can’t get the broom repaired if you haven't noticed! Piece of shit Vednik! Couldn’t sweep a street with it! Oh, and my fucking hand hurts! Ahhh!” She groaned, still flexing her hand as a new wave of pain shot through it. “Oh. I’m sorry...” – “Not your fault, you didn’t shoot at me.” Sofiya answered as she walked over to her single chair. Maybe if she sat, the pain would stop. At least that way she wouldn’t throw or kick things when her friend was present. “I heard you yell and... I just wanted to check up on you.” Khiuaz said, looking at her with worry.

Sofiya tried to calm her breathing for some long moments and as her breathing slowed, the pain got less and less, to a more tolerable degree. “I’m... just angry at the whole situation. I didn’t mean to yell at you, sorry.” She offered, “It’s just... Repairing the thing should be so simple in theory, and yet... I was so confident I could do it yesterday.” Khiuaz crouched down opposite of her. She didn’t say anything, but rather seemed to study her. “You’re creeping me out, you know?” Sofiya said after a few minutes of silence, trying to break the building awkwardness. Khiuaz looked away, “I... I just worry about you. What if you get hit again? Already three Witches have been injured and it’s only November. I... I couldn’t...” She turned her head and Sofiya saw tears glittering in her eyes, “I couldn’t take losing you, Sofiya. You... You’ve been my first real friend, and... When I heard you’ve been hit... All that blood on your coat, I...” – “It’s ok, Khiuaz,” Sofiya tried to reassure her, “It was a close call, but we all made it.”

Suddenly, Khiuaz embraced her again. When they broke apart, her friend still looked worried. “Please, Sofiya, just... promise you won’t get hurt again.” – “I don’t really have a say in this, you know?” – “Well then... why don’t you stay on the ground? At least until your hand has fully healed?” Sofiya was taken aback by Khiuaz’ words. She could fly just as well with eight fingers as with ten, and her friend knew that. But then... Why was she so worried about her? She was so confident all the time, and Sofiya could count the times she saw her friend cry on one hand. Her good hand. She absently registered that the pain in her other had stopped completely. But Khiuaz... “Why are you so concerned about me? You didn’t tell Marina or Tatyana to stop flying when they got hit? What’s gotten into you?” Sofiya asked concerned.

Khiuaz rose and took a step back, not looking at her. “I worry about you. You’re my best friend, and... “ – “And you’re mine too, but you know I can’t let the Night Witches down by staying home.” Sofiya stood up again, “If I stay home, so would Polina. The coming days or weeks will be hard, and the strain will be bad enough on six brooms, let alone five.” – “I know that!” Khiuaz snapped, “But if I lost you, I... I couldn’t tell you...” – “Tell me what?” Sofiya asked, now thoroughly confused. Why was her friend behaving like that? Could it be that...

Just as Khiuaz opened her mouth to reply, the tent-flap was pulled back and a cheerful Serafima entered, carrying a tray with a steaming mug and a plate. She had to turn sideways to enter and didn’t immediately face the room. “Hope you’re making progress, Sofiya!” She laughed, “We made some tea with the new rations. Turned out pretty good. I also brought some hard bread with...” Serafima stopped talking as she finally turned and recognized the atmosphere. Sofiya thought it must look strange. Khiuaz with her mouth open and tears in her eyes, her own face furrowed in thought, both tense for different reasons... “What’s going on here? Am I interrupting something?” Serafima asked after a few awkward seconds. “No, no!” Khiuaz replied quickly, finding her voice again, “I just... came to see how Sofiya is doing. I better get going.” The young Witch made her exit so fast, Sofiya thought she might have dissapparated. Maybe she had.

Serafima turned to her, “What was that about? Was that my fault?” Her smile faltered. Sofiya sighed, “I... don’t really know to be honest. Just put the tea there, thanks.” – “I should knock next time, shouldn’t I?” Serafima asked, smiling again. But Sofiya wasn’t in a smiling-mood right now, she sat back down on her chair and put her head in her hands. She heard a small sigh, some shuffling and then the tray being sat down. After a few more moments of silence Serafima said quietly, “Well... I’ll leave you to your repairs then... Dinner’s around seven, salted pork and dried vegetables. Aleksandra said she’ll try to make a stew out of it.” A few footsteps, the flap rustling again and she, too, was gone.

Sofiya let her head fall back. Why did she feel so sad all of a sudden? Her friend worried about her, that should comfort her. But the way she showed her worries... And what had Khiuaz wanted to tell her? If only Serafima hadn’t come at that exact moment! Sofiya started to breathe slowly and evenly again, but her thoughts just wouldn’t calm down, Khiuaz and the infernal broom all blended together to a giant problem that no amount of magic could fix. If only...

She stood up, looking around her workshop. The broom was still lying against the tent-wall, the replacement part had landed Gods knew where... Maybe a walk would calm her down, she thought as she grabbed her coat. The mug steamed invitingly, and the hard bread with butter looked good as well, but she didn’t want any of that. She just wanted her thoughts to calm down, her broom to be whole again and the one nagging question to go away. What did Khiuaz want to tell her...

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Sergey stood in the twilight, watching the Night Witches assembling in their formation. The two-day vacation had passed all to quickly. Not that he could have enjoyed it much, he had been busy transporting the new supplies and brewing potions. They now had enough to supply Durmstrang for a year, he guessed. His shelves were lined with pepper-up, pain-reliever, blood-replenisher and warming-potion. He hoped they wouldn’t need it all, especially since too much pepper-up over a long time could ruin the body’s biological clock and even lead to addiction. But sunset was around half past five and sunrise around eight in November. They’d be flying for fourteen hours or even more. At least today Ms. Bershanskaya had managed to limit their flying-time to twelve hours a night. When she had returned from HQ earlier today she looked as if she already had done three of such nights. Twelve hours were still very dangerous, though. Eight hours would be the absolute maximum anyone could do for a prolonged time, he guessed. Not that anyone had ever tried to fly as long as possible in the November cold while a friend sitting behind them cast _bombarda_ after _bombarda_. It was madness, but they had no choice...

The former Noble studied them closer. Yes, they were all young and, magically speaking, in their prime. He was the oldest at thirty-one, all the women and Wladimir were 25 or younger. But still, the human body had limits, as did magic. There were enough tales of the effects of prolonged magical exhaustion: People coughing up blood, others aging physically 20 years in a single day, others again falling into a coma-like state for days on end, trapped inside their own heads with only nightmares keeping them company... Sergey shuddered. He had never experienced it personally, but they’d been warned at school at least once a week.

He sensed a presence to his left and turned. The Muggle Wladimir stood next to him, nodding in greeting. Sergey returned the gesture but didn’t talk. He wasn’t in a talking mood right now. Wladimir however didn’t seem to sense that, “It’s finally changing, huh? We’re going on the offence.” He said, his breath visible in the cold evening air. Sergey thought about that. Yes, the Red Army was starting to push back, but would it be enough? They had studied the Great War in their history-class at Durmstrang. Would it be like twenty years ago, push and counter-push cancelling each other, countries bleeding themself dry over mere kilometres of dirt? It certainly started to look that way in the area around Stalingrad. “Ummm...” Wladimir interrupted his thoughts. Right, he expected an answer. “It certainly is changing, but we’ll see if the plan will work. I’m more concerned about them.” Sergey said, gesturing to the Witches, “Flying twelve hours is no joke, and magical exhaustion is... bad.” He saw Wladimir’s features fall. “Yes, I... suspected something like that.” The Muggle said, “But still... I’m sure they’ll make it. Witches and Wizards are powerful after all, right? Like when Valentina waved her stick- her wand and just stopped Sofiya’s hand from bleeding? And no infection either!” Wladimir’s features lit up again at the topic of magic.

Sergey looked back to the Witches. They certainly were powerful, at least compared to Muggles. There also had been some powerful Wizards over the time, of course all from nobility, who would dwarf them like the Witches dwarfed Wladimir. Still, Sergey thought, no power and no spell could protect against a bullet. At least not yet, but he doubted the subject would be very high on the list of the spellcrafters. After all, why should a Muggle ever shoot at a Wizard? “Yes, they... we are powerful.” Sergey said, still looking at the Witches, “And I think that they all are stubborn enough to fly twelve hours for Gods know how long. But I wonder at the toll it will take...” He turned back to the Muggle, “I think we’ll have lots of work in the coming weeks. Come, you should know where the first-aid potions are kept and how to administer them.”

He turned towards his tent, not checking whether Wladimir followed him or not. Yes, he thought, I definitely can make myself useful in the coming days. Maybe that was his reason to fight in this war. To care for twelve magically exhausted young Witches, a Muggle and a Kneazle-kitten. He sighed again as he entered his tent. The fates certainly were strange. At least his tent was heated...

\----------

Stalingrad looked bad. Whole blocks had been levelled by artillery and bombers, only chimneys still stood high like dead trees in the steppe of ash and death that once was a vibrant city. From high above the black Volga occasional muzzle-flashes were visible. Yevdokia hoped that each one marked the end of another fascist. No bombers flew tonight, likely because of the thick clouds. Thankfully the snow had stopped falling for now, so their visibility wasn’t affected. They flew below the clouds, silent and deadly. She turned her head left, to the other side of the river. Figures ran across the banks, small ferries hurried to and fro, transporting troops and equipment for tomorrow’s offensive, making use of the thick clouds. Yevdokia hoped with all her heart that Zhukov’s and Vasilevsky’s plan could break the stalemate. The arrows on the map had looked promising enough, but she had no knowledge about military tactics. All she and her friends could do was fly and hope.

The commander looked straight ahead. In the distance the Volga curved east and beyond the bend were their targets. She already could recognize the Red Army’s positions, a network of trenches extending from the riverbank a few hundred meters inland. Beyond those trenches everything was fair game. They would attack up to three times, split up, regroup and attack again, leaving the enemy guessing at their position and actual strength.

Twelve hours, Yevdokia thought, twelve hours of this every night until victory or death had been achieved. She briefly thought back to her visit to HQ earlier today and shuddered. She had just wanted to raise some concerns about their flying-time. No wonder Moscow had been defended, no wonder the Germans were halted at the Volga. General Zhukov didn’t retreat a millimetre, for better or for worse. It had been only by General Vasilevsky’s intervention that their flying-time had been somewhat limited. She doubted whether Zhukov would have relented had Vasilevsky not been his superior.

They had now almost left the Volga behind. Yevdokia could spot the German lines with relative ease, a network of trenches similar to those of the Red Army. She also spotted several strongpoints that would make for good targets. If there was little AA... Thoughts of tracers, black clouds, screams and blood almost immediately rose to the surface. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. That had been coincidence, not her fault! This time she knew where they could fly. This time, no one would be wounded.

Yevdokia started to smile again, the anticipation of the bombing clearing away her doubts and fears. The Germans would pay for taking Sofiya’s fingers, for damaging her broom. She turned her broom slightly to the right. “Night Witches! Make ready! First target: Strongpoint straight ahead! Let’s turn the tide!” Yells of agreement filled her ear-piece before she ordered silence. They would do their part, she thought, Gods, let that be enough to win...

\----------

Polina yawned and stretched. She felt like she’d been trampled by a Hippogriff. A quick _tempus_ -charm told her that it was almost three o’clock in the afternoon. She sighed deeply, they’d be flying again in three or four hours. It had only been five days of this, but she already felt the effects. In the air she was awake enough, the cold wind and potions saw to that. But as soon as they returned, she was ready to fall over and sleep right there in the snow. Wait, had it been five days? She wasn’t entirely sure. Everything hurt, and yesterday- no, tonight she had had a coppery taste in her mouth for nearly the whole mission. She dreaded what would be next. The nights all looked the same and she’d slept through most of the daylight-hours. If she was honest she didn't even care anymore if her spells hit anything. She just automatically followed her commands, concentrating on not falling off the broom and just managing to cast the spell instead of aiming.

Reluctantly she got up, leaving her warm bed behind. Maybe breakfast would help. Or was it lunch? Dinner? It didn’t matter, she decided as she got dressed, as long as there was food. At her door she briefly paused to look in her mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot and dark bags hung beneath them. Polina briefly considered using a _glamour_ to hide the signs of exhaustion but decided against it. She’d need all her energy for tonight. Besides, the others looked like shit too.

The scene in the common room was disheartening. Tatyana, Serafima, Natalya and Khiuaz sat at the big table. The first two were sleeping upright, Serafima still holding a spoon, the other two were slowly eating some kind of porridge, as if every move hurt. Polina got herself a bowl of food and sat beside them at the table, but only Natalya looked up. She just nodded before returning to her food. Polina tasted a spoonful. It was surprisingly tasty and even had some dried fruits in it. She wondered who had made it as she ate faster and faster, realizing how hungry she was.

The mood in the room was oppressive. No one laughed, no one even talked. All that could be heard was the sound of cutlery and Tatyana’s soft snoring. Polina’s bowl was empty sooner than she’d anticipated. She felt her tiredness return. She shouldn’t have eaten to quickly, she thought, maybe she could squeeze in a nap as the other two seemed to do...

The door flew open with a bang and all five witches shot up, wands at the ready, turning towards the entrance. Wladimir seemed blissfully ignorant about the five wands pointed at him as he stumbled into the common room and closed the door behind him. He finally turned towards them, a huge smile on his face. A smile that quickly disappeared as he took in the room. He slowly raised his hands. Polina noticed a slip of paper he held in his right hand. She sighed, more orders probably, maybe even flying during the day. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Khiuaz yelled. Wladimir looked nervous, “I... I have received an urgent message and-“ – “And you just barge in here? People are sleeping here, damn you!”

The two sides stared at each other, each one of them unsure what to say before the wands began to lower. Tatyana rubbed her eyes, “Your shouting isn’t helping, Khiuaz!” She sighed, sitting down again, “Just... Open the door silently, Wladimir. You know where Yevdokia’s room is, just knock loudly. She should be up by now anyway.” She told him. Wladimir’s smile returned. “Oh, but this is a message for everybody!” He almost giggled, “We did it! We won! Two hours ago, our forces met each other at Kalach! At the Don! Stalingrad is surrounded! The Germans are trapped!” Wladimir actually was laughing now, Polina thought absently. Then the weight of his words hit.

Stunned silence enveloped the room. Polina shook her head, she was hearing things now, this couldn’t be... “What?” Khiuaz managed to say after long seconds. “The city is surrounded! General Zhukov’s operation was successful! An entire German army is surrounded, no way out!” Wladimir beamed at them. Polina felt a giant weight lift from her shoulders. Her tiredness was gone, her sore body didn’t ache anymore, the day seemed somehow brighter. She felt Serafima hugging her from the left, her friend laughing along with Wladimir. She joined in. The tide was turning! This war could be won! They would be on the offensive from now on!

The next minutes passed in a blur. More Witches came, likely woken by their laughter. The message spread and after not even five minutes the whole room was filled with celebrating women. Even Sergey came in and shocked everybody by joining their celebration. Leshy zoomed around the room, suddenly full of energy and jumping on their shoulders. At some point Wladimir and Yevdokia stood aside for a minute or so and then the commander vanished, but Polina didn’t care. They had done it! Someone started singing ‘Kalinka’ and they all joined in, stumbling over the words and laughing as the refrain got faster and faster. One word was repeated over and over. Victory! Victory! We did it!

\----------

The mood at HQ was just as happy as at their base, Yevdokia noticed. She smiled. After five days of hard fighting, the Red Army had done it. Stalingrad was surrounded, the whole 6th Army was trapped. That she had to immediately report at HQ struck her as odd, but maybe she was to be congratulated. Even if she got in trouble for ‘not doing enough’ by Zhukov’s standards, she didn’t let it affect her mood. They had done it, and that was all that mattered!

When she entered the war-room and saluted, she was surprised. General Zhukov was gone, instead she was alone with General Vasilevsky and two aides. Yevdokia had suspected the man to be nailed to his map-table. The Chief of the General Staff motioned her closer, smiling, “Comrade Lieutenant Colonel! No doubt you’ve heard the news?” – “Yes, General Vasilevsky. Congratulations.” Yevdokia nodded. On the maps she could see updated lines, now enclosing the city. The General followed her gaze, “Thank you. Yes, we’ve got them surrounded. But the fight is far from over.” Yevdokia looked back up, Vasilevsky wasn’t smiling anymore. Her heart sank. No... No! She slowly shook her head, her smile disappeared.

“Yes, sadly you will continue flying all night for the coming weeks. The situation on the front is still far from being secure. We’ll need to push towards Stalingrad from their rear, as well as fortify the Don area to prevent a counterattack. You’ll support our push towards the city, starting from Kalach here and along the river Karpovka towards Marinovka and beyond.” Yevdokia wanted nothing more than to sit down. She had been so happy just minutes ago, why could that never seem to last? Why couldn’t they just enjoy their victory, relax for two days and then join back in? Why was this damn war still going on? Why couldn’t they just go home for a bit? She wanted nothing more than to sleep, to finally relax, see her family...

“Comrade Lieutenant Colonel, are you alright?” She heard Vasilevsky ask. His voice seemed to come from far away. Her hands had gripped the table, knuckles white and she was breathing faster, a feeling of dread steadily rising in her chest. “I’m... I’m fine,” she began haltingly, “But... General, we... we can’t do this anymore. Those last five nights were bad enough, but now you’re talking about weeks of this. I thought that with ‘Operation Uranus’ succeeding, that...” – “The enemy is surrounded, yes, but they still might break out. We need to continue to push them back to prevent that from happening, and for that we need to bomb them at night.” His voice softened, “I can understand the strain you must be under, your pilots and your planes. But Georgy- General Zhukov is adamant that you are a vital component of our next push, and from what I’ve seen I have to agree. Take heart, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel. The tide is turning, and your twelve-hour-nights might even be for just five more days, or even less. You’ll get updates over your field-telephone, but tonight you will fly in the same area as yesterday. Dismissed.”

Yevdokia saluted and left, but it felt as if someone else was controlling her body. She briefly concentrated to apparate once she was sure that no one could see her, but then just stood in the apparition-area near their base. She wanted nothing more than to cry, just let it all out. They had been so happy, their pain and exhaustion forgotten. Now this... hell had to continue for Gods knew how long. She should have told Vasilevsky that they weren’t flying planes, that flying a broom took as much strength as casting _bombardas_ , but what good would that have done? He wouldn’t have believed her, and the Ministry would surely find out eventually. She cast a _tempus_ -charm. Almost four o’clock. Soon the sun would be setting, soon they’d fly again.

The commander breathed deeply, steeling herself. She could, and would, cry all she wanted when tonight’s mission was over. Right now she needed to be the leader of the Night Witches. And the leader had devastating news to deliver. As she walked towards the shed she wondered if her friends would come to hate her after this. If they’d still talk to each other or come over for visits when the war was over. Or be alive. Or if she, the bearer of so many bad news, would have no one left after... Yevdokia shook her head. No, she thought, we all will survive, and we’ll still be friends. She was standing before the door. Laughter and singing reached her ears and she hesitated. Her hand gripped the handle but she couldn't move it. She sighed. Better to do this quickly...

\----------

Two lone figures stood in the early morning twilight, faces turned upwards. The sky was dark and cloudy, but steadily got brighter as the sun rose. Wladimir felt nervous. They should have returned by now. He turned to his companion. Sergey’s face looked as impassive as ever, but his fidgeting hands gave him away. He, too, was worried. Wladimir looked west again, thinking back. The news that the Witches had to keep flying twelve-hour-shifts had been received... badly, to put it mildly. Ms. Bershanskaya had to draw her wand and threaten to curse them all to keep them from rebelling against the orders. For a moment he had been afraid it might actually come to that, but then things calmed down somewhat. He guessed there was still a lot of resentment left, though.

Sergey pointed to the sky, “There! They’re coming. Seems like all brooms made it.” Wladimir followed his gesture and saw the six black dots against the grey of the clouds. He released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The other man turned to look at him, “Be ready to assist me. They’ll be exhausted and we don’t need anyone falling unconscious in this cold. You handle the pepper-up-potions, I’ll assist magically where needed.” Wladimir nodded. He was somewhat surprised by the fact that the former Noble seemed to care about what happened to the women, but he didn’t question it too much. He was willing to help, that was all he needed to know, the soldier thought as he walked to the shed to get the potions.

When he emerged he saw the Night Witches in the final stage of landing. Their flying formation had looked fine, but as soon as they touched ground some began to stumble or sway. He hurried to give them their potions. He didn’t exactly know what they did, but Sergey had told him they fought the worst effects of exhaustion. Wladimir knew about being tired, all those sleepless nights in training and then keeping communications running at his old assignment, but this wasn’t natural. As he gave a potion to Natalya she couldn’t even thank him she was coughing so hard. He gripped her shoulders and steadied her as the fit subsided. The Witch nodded at him, smiling weakly, but he could see blood on her lips and chin. Wladimir opened his mouth, but the woman just shook her head and walked off, raising the vial he gave her to her lips.

Wladimir hurried on. He saw Sergey picking up Polina out of the snow. Her head swayed limply from side to side, eyes closed, as he forced her mouth open and a potion down her throat. She then woke and looked around with a confused expression. Others, like Ms. Bershanskaya, looked like death, eyes rimmed black and bloodshot, their gazes never quite reaching them, as if something behind their eyes had gone missing. Wladimir felt all the hope he had for them slowly evaporate. How long could this continue? How far could they push themselves? And at what cost? Sergey had explained magical exhaustion to him, but seeing it...

After long minutes the last Witch had finally stumbled into the shed to rest. Wladimir stood outside, not wanting to disturb them for the moment. He saw Sergey leaving the building and walking over to him. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” He asked the Wizard. The man didn’t immediately answer, instead he gestured to the ground where the brooms still lay where they had been dropped. Wladimir turned. It looked... So wrong. Normally the Witches, especially Sofiya, as he now knew, were very careful about their brooms. Now, they lay on the snow between small spots of blood. “Yes, it’s bad.” Sergey said after some time, “But... They’ll pull through. They’re young, tough and stubborn. We’ll just have to make sure to do as much of the work here as we can. But,” he turned to Wladimir, “it will still feel like hell to them.” Wladimir couldn’t agree more. He suddenly was not that envious of Wizards and Witches anymore, if that was the price they payed for using their powers. He would be exhausted as well in such a situation, but he wouldn’t cough up blood or age rapidly. Sergey ripped him from his dark thoughts, “Come. I pick up the brooms, you get lunch started.”

Gentle snow began to fall on the now empty landing area, slowly covering up the torn snow and blood. An eerie silence began to descend, the snowfall dampening the ever present sounds of artillery and war. Inside the shed twelve exhausted Witches fell onto their beds, most not even bothering to undress. A lone Muggle began cooking a stew, still marvelling at the magical flames under the cauldron. He was soon joined by a former Noble, but neither talked. There was nothing to talk about, and the silence and cold of the outside world seemed to seep into the shed, only interrupted by the slowly bubbling food.

\----------

End Note: No rest for the Night Witches, it seems like. Bit of a depressing chapter over all I think, but necessary in the grand scheme of things. Everyone is hoping for better days, but when will they come? You can probably guess which part I laboured the most over, but over all I’m happy how it turned out. So stay tuned for part II, coming, as always, next-week-ish!


	13. Operation Uranus Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness and light; The visitor; Trust; Dragons; Salvation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: Last week’s chapter came a bit early, this comes a bit late, everything evens out in the great cosmic scheme. But here is chapter Lucky 13 as threatened. I also realized while writing this that my word-count has almost exceeded the first Harry-Potter-novel with the publishing of this chapter. Yay me! Not so bad for an idea I had while riding the bus one hot summer day, listening to Sabaton, if I do say so myself. And we’ve exceeded 300 hits, or are very close to it. Double yay!

Chapter 13 – Operation Uranus Part II

Blackness. Just inky blackness surrounding her. No light, no sound, so sense of touch. She was adrift in the blackest night, not knowing whether she was moving or not. It wasn’t so bad, she thought. Nothing hurt, nothing was bleeding, no more exhaustion, just... nothing at all. She wondered who she had been before she’d entered this void. She had been a woman, a young woman, but other than that... Wasn’t she supposed to be at Durmstrang instead of here? No, that couldn’t be right, her friends would look for her then.

It didn’t matter anyway, here she was at peace. After all the hardships of... Something, she finally could rest. Suddenly her mind focused. Had that been a sound? She strained to listen. “-na!... -na!” Was all she could hear. The voice was high, like a woman’s. And panicked. Strange, she thought, trying to ignore the noise. All she wanted was peace and quiet, was that too much to ask? But the sound got louder. She could hear words now, “Marina! Marina!” It sounded like a whispered shout. Marina... Was that her? Yes, she was Marina... But what was she doing in this void?

The strange whispering got louder, more urgent. She still resisted. Even if she was Marina, she wanted to be left alone. Another, deeper voice joined in, “...of no use! Get her mouth open!” Did she even have a mouth? Or a body? She could neither feel nor see it. What was going on? She was starting to worry. Would the void go away? Would everything hurt again? Would the war still be raging?

She stopped in her tracks. War? Memories started to rise from the blackness around her. Yes, she was fighting in the war, protecting her loved ones. But then... Why was she here? Was it night already? Had she fallen asleep while flying? The deep voice sounded again, “Good, now hold her down.” How could they hold her down when she didn’t have a body, she wondered.

Then everything exploded in white and noise. She was yanked away from the void, the feeling not unlike a portkey. Suddenly everything hurt again. Someone was holding down her shoulders, but it still was... dark? What had happened. The woman spoke again, “Marina, it’s ok, it’s ok! It’s me, Valentina! Open your eyes for me. Please.” With considerable effort Marina forced her eyes open. The faces of Valentina, Sergey and Wladimir were staring down at her, all looking worried. She groaned and closed her eyes again. The room she was in was only dimly lit, but it still hurt her eyes.

Sergey was the first to speak, “There you are, Ms. Raskowa. How do you feel?” Marina groaned again, “Like shit.” Her voice sounded hoarse, the words came slowly, “What happened? I was in this... void, and then...” But the longer she was back in this world, the faster her memories of the blackness faded. “What void?” Valentina asked after a few moments. “I... I can’t really remember. I thought I was back at Durmstrang, and...” She tried harder to remember but it was like grabbing at water, “No... it’s gone. All I remember is floating in darkness.” Marina sighed. “Well, as long as you’re back...” Sergey said, looking less worried now, “You can let go, Wladimir.” The pressure on her shoulders was gone. It still felt strange, having a body again, she thought as she sat upright. When did she lie down?

Marina looked around. At least she was in her room, but she would have bet everything she possessed that just moments ago she was flying her broom. “What... How did I get here?” – “You don’t remember?” Valentina asked, looking at her with concern, “You fell off your broom when we were landing. You were only like a metre above the ground, but you were unconscious and we couldn’t wake you.” Marina stared at her. It started slowly coming back. They had been bombing targets. Then they encountered AA... Suddenly she shot up. “Sofiya! She was hit, is she alright?” She blurted, her eyes darting around. She started to walk to the door but her legs gave out. Sergey caught her and heaved her back to her bed. She was fighting him, trying to worm out of his grip. Her friend was injured! She needed to help! “Calm down, Ms. Raskowa, calm down! Ms. Ozerkova is alright!” – “Yes, Marina. She wasn’t injured tonight! Listen to us!” She heard Sergey and Valentina say, but it took some minutes for her to calm down. When her breathing finally had slowed and she wasn’t fighting anymore, Sergey released her, stepping back to give her some space. Inside she was still in turmoil though. What were they all doing here while someone else needed their help more?

“Marina, are you sure you’re alright?” Valentina asked, “Sofiya wasn’t injured. Did you have a dream?” – “No, I didn’t have a dream!” Marina snapped, “We had just bombed a supply depot when we came upon a staging ground or something! They shot at us and Sofiya got hit, you must remember this!” She said heatedly, the panic rising anew. The others just looked at each other for a moment before Valentina spoke again, “Marina... That was weeks ago, on the 16th of November.” – “I know what date it is!” She snapped. “Marina, it’s the 3rd of December today.” She stared at her friend. “But... That can’t be, it was just earlier today that... But...” Marina stuttered, her anger and fear suddenly gone. Instead a feeling of dread was rising, steadily getting stronger. Was she losing her mind? “We were shot at tonight too, but no one got hurt. Remember?" Valentina continued, "We were flying east, towards the city? Over Rossoshka? We bombed the depots in that area?”

Marina put her head in her hands. Yes, her friend was right. No one was injured tonight, in fact it went as well as could be expected. The AA was disorganized and didn’t even have more than three searchlights. “Valentina... Am I losing my mind?” She asked, not looking up. “It’s just magical exhaustion, Ms. Raskowa.” Sergey answered instead, “You’re young, you’ll pull through. Lie back and try to sleep, it will be better tomorrow.” Marina could hear he was trying to reassure her, but his tone was... off. She sighed. “I don’t think I can sleep anymore tonight.” – “At least try to relax then. Organize your thoughts. Meditate.” The former Noble suggested.

Marina rose again. The room spun a little, but she didn’t need to brace herself before it stopped. “I... I think I’ll go for a walk. I need some quiet and darkness.” – “Marina... do you think that’s wise? What if you fall unconscious again? I’ll go with you.” – “No, Valentina, you go and rest. I’ll be fine.” – “Ms. Stupina is right, Ms. Raskowa.” Sergey interrupted them, “I’ll go with you. Don’t worry,” he added quickly when Marina opened her mouth to protest, “I’ll give you privacy.” Marina weighed her options. She still didn’t like him, but Valentina did need to rest, she looked like death incarnate. She sighed, “Ok then, let’s go.”

As she stepped outside the shed Marina breathed in deeply, enjoying the crisp cold air that evaporated her tiredness, however briefly. She turned around to see Sergey leaning against the wall, hands in his coat-pockets. “Don’t mind me, Ms. Raskowa. I’ll just stay here as long as I can see you.” He said as he put on a pair of their flying-goggles. Where did he get those, she wondered. “Besides,” he continued, looking east, “Dawn’s already coming.” – “Alright then.” Marina shrugged and started to walk, but stopped after two steps and turned around again. “Why do you still call me ‘Ms. Raskowa’ by the way. We’ve known each other for over half a year now and considering the situation we’re in...” She trailed off. The former Noble just shrugged, “I was raised this way, but if it annoys you... Don’t mind me, Marina.” He answered and Marina could swear he smiled at her, though it was hard to tell with his beard. She felt her own smile as well. She still didn’t like him all that much, but being called ‘Ms. Raskowa’ remined her too much of school. At least he cared now. Their conversation earlier this month- no, last month, seemed to have had the desired effect. Marina nodded and started her walk.

It was kind of nice, knowing that someone cared about her. Not that her friends didn’t care about her, but the exhaustion made them all... distant and cold. Marina wondered how long they would have to endure this. They were running on fumes, only subsisting on pepper-up potion and eleven hours of death-like sleep. She sighed, at least for now she could enjoy walking through the fresh snow. It was almost as in her dream, although the darkness was already fading. Only now she didn’t want to return there. Here everything hurt, but she had her friends and others that cared about her. She’d ask for dreamless sleep tomorrow, she resolved. If she didn’t fall unconscious again...

\----------

The sky was clear for once, a dark blue slowly getting brighter, not a cloud in sight. The sun had just risen above the horizon, casting long shadows on the white snow. Six brooms descended from the blue void in formation, landing in front of the shed. As soon as they touched the ground, Natalya stumbled away from her broom and sank onto her knees in the snow. Her cough had gotten worse tonight. Her body was shaking, she had to brace herself on her hands, closing her eyes against the pain that flared with each cough. After what seemed like an eternity she could finally breathe again and opened her eyes. She immediately wished she hadn’t. The snow below her was red with her blood. She couldn’t even taste it anymore...

She felt two sets of hands gripping her arms and hauling her upright. Marina and Yevdokia. They looked worried, she thought, worried and as bad as she felt. Marina’s nose was bleeding badly, but she didn’t seem to notice. Yevdokia looked like she had just crawled out of a grave, her face sunken and her eyes bloodshot. “Natalya, are you alright? You need a potion and rest! Come on, let’s get you inside. You’re staying home tonight.” Natalya resisted her friend hauling her away, “No, Doki. You need your caster. Just... let me sleep it off, I’ll be fine.” – “Tali, are you crazy? You’re literally spitting blood! I’m your commander and I can-“ Natalya tuned her out, a movement in the corner of her eye had caught her attention. Leshy had appeared next to them, baring his little teeth in the direction of the apparition-point, his bright green eyes never blinking. He was audibly snarling and she could see the hairs on his back rising. Natalya looked in the direction, but since the bushes and shrubs were so thick, she could see nothing.

She looked back at Yevdokia, “What’s up with little Leshy?” She asked, but the commander didn’t even turn her head. “Don’t change the subject, Tali. Did you even listen to me?” – “No, really, I think he’s seen something!” – “You’re hallucinating! Why on-“ - “Over there! At the apparition-point!” Someone suddenly yelled. Fourteen heads turned as one and thirteen wands were raised.

A richly dressed man was stepping out of the shrubs, lazily brushing off his clothes. He had a long, brown full beard that was tucked into his belt, which made guessing his age difficult. His robes were long and made of fine materials, a dark purple base and blue highlights with golden stars stitched onto them. On his head he wore an expensive looking ushanka with some coat of arms on its front. From behind his half-moon glasses bright blue eyes looked curiously at them. No doubt, Natalya thought, he was a Wizard. But why was he dressed like someone from two centuries ago? And, more importantly, why wasn’t his wand out and pointing at them?

Yevdokia took some steps towards him, her wand never leaving the stranger, “You! Who are you! What are you doing here?” She barked. The man smiled, “That is such a difficult question,” he said in accented and artificial sounding Russian. Natalya suspected he’d used a spell to translate his words. That ruled out their own Ministry at least, she thought. The man meanwhile continued, “Who can truly answer the question ‘Who are you’? But if you are referring to my name, I am Albus Dumbledore.” Natalya saw the Witches looking at each other. What kind of a name was that? “I’m from England,” he continued, “and as to why I’m here... I’m afraid it has to do with you.” – “And why is that? Did they hire you to get rid of us? Or are you working for the Germans?!” Marina spat. “I just want to talk to you, I don’t know who ‘they’ are, Ms...?” – “Give up your wand and we’ll talk.” Yevdokia ordered, stepping closer to him and holding out her hand. “Yevdokia! He’s almost certainly the enemy!” Marina yelled. “If he was a German, he wouldn’t have revealed himself, he would just have picked us off from cover.” The commander said, turning her head slightly to address her friend, “And you! I’m tired, either give me your wand or leave!” She snapped, turning back to the foreign Wizard.

The man studied them, no doubt weighing his chances in combat, Natalya thought. Then, to her surprise, he slowly reached into his robes, took out his wand and placed it carefully in Yevdokia’s hand. The commander seemed to be stunned for a few seconds, but then closed her hand and put the wand in a pocket inside her coat. “Very well, you’re either a lot more powerful than we or you really want to talk. Let’s go inside then, it’s cold.” Yevdokia turned to the Witches, “Get inside and get some rest. Marina, come with me.” She said, making her way to one of the unused hangar-tents. “Alright then, let’s go talk to the crazy man.” Marina muttered darkly as she slung Natalya’s arm over her shoulder and started walking. “What are you doing? I wasn’t mentioned!” Natalya protested, but her friend just shook her head, “I know about that chronicle you’re writing.” Natalya’s eyes widened and she felt herself blush. “Oh, don’t be embarrassed. I think it’s great that someone is writing about what we’re doing. And I have no doubt that Yevdokia wants you to be present at this. This is the first visitor we get, after all. Just... make me appear like a hero when he turns on us, ok?” Natalya wanted to sink into the ground. How did she know about her diary turned chronicle? But she also felt some pride at her friend’s words. Marina and Yevdokia liked the idea! Maybe she’d dedicate the book to them...

The hangar-tent was empty and cold, but at least the wind wasn’t biting. Yevdokia nodded at them both when they entered. The stranger, Dumbledore, was looking around the tent, studying it with great interest. The commander cleared her throat. “Alright, now we can talk. My name is Yevdokia Davidovka Bershanskaya. I’m the commanding officer of the 588th Night Bomber Regiment. These are my second-in-command Marina Mikaylovna Raskowa and my caster Natalya Fyodorovna Meklin.” She said, indicating each person. “A pleasure to meet you.” Dumbledore said with a smile before turning serious. “I’m afraid I bring bad news. As you surely know, a Wizard by the name of Grindelwald is currently on the rise in Europe.” The women nodded. “What you might not know is that I am opposing him and have been for some time. I’m currently trying to stop him from seizing too much power. As such I have some spies in his ranks. Which brings me to you.” He sighed deeply, as if already regretting his next words, “He knows about your existence and he plans to use you to gain more power. Grindelwald has always insisted that Muggles are too dangerous to be left without... supervision from Wizards, and he’s using this war and the way it’s fought to show the legitimacy of his claims. He might plan to expose you to the magical world once the war is over, and the outrage at Witches, Muggle-born at that, fighting in a Muggle-war might secure him even more support among the pure-bloods. He might even further his own position, insisting that Muggle-born Witches and Wizards need... supervision as well, considering they risked the exposure of our world to the Muggles. That is if the Muggles don’t turn the whole earth to ash with their wars, as he’s claiming.”

Dumbledore was silent after that. Natalya’s head swam with all this new information. Or it could be blood-loss, she thought darkly. That Grindelwald knew about them could be suspected, they had reached that conclusion on their own. Who else could force the Russian Ministry to act against their own people? But hearing about his goals... Using their righteous actions for propaganda against Muggle-born? Were they not just defending their loved ones? Yevdokia seemed to have reached that same conclusion, “We already suspected his involvement. But that does hardly justify you somehow arriving in our apparition-area at the exact moment we were returning.” She said with narrowed eyes. Their guest sighed again, “That, I can assure you, was pure chance. I’m on a trip to visit the wand-maker Gregorovich, an old friend of mine, in Magical Moscow and thought I’d visit you before my international portkey leaves at noon.” – “Yeah, right.” Marina scoffed, “Why not visit the ruins of Stalingrad for a nice morning stroll. Have a nice chat with the locals while you’re at it.” Dumbledore ignored her, continuing, “I detected your base from some distance away. You don’t have it very well guarded against Wizards, I must say...” - “Just tell us why you’re here, old man!” Yevdokia spat, “Our day was hard enough, no need to draw it out.” Dumbledore’s eyes briefly seemed to... flash with anger when he was interrupted. Or was it a trick of the light, Natalya thought. “Very well,” he said, his friendly demeanour suddenly gone, “I have come to ask you to stop this operation of yours.”

The Witches were stunned. Natalya’s mouth opened in disbelief. Did she hear right? The man seemed to take their silence as a sign to continue, “Wizards have no business involving themself in the affairs of Muggles. Your actions might help to speed up the war, but that will only feed Grindelwald’s propaganda and risk exposure of our secrets. Leave now, take your families and go somewhere safe, somewhere where neither he nor your Ministry can get to you. Come to England. Go to the northern parts, Yorkshire or Scotland. The German planes can’t reach that far and society is more open towards Muggle-born. You will be safe, your families can find work and you won’t have to risk your lives or kill.”

Natalya was still shocked. She looked at Yevdokia and Marina. Both were looking at the wizard as if he was mad. He might very well be. She felt something inside of her rise. Fury. Cold fury at his suggestion to just leave everything. “Fuck you!” Natalya whispered. “Excuse me, young lady?” Dumbledore said, like one of her teachers would have. “Fuck you!” Natalya repeated louder, “You come here, in the middle of the counter-offensive and just tell us to pack up and leave?” She got progressively louder as she riled herself up, “Do you think we’re cowards? We’re defending ourselves, our loved ones! We don’t need a fucking Ministry! We don’t need your charity! We have each other! If we leave, all the sacrifices we made will have been in vain! You bastard son of a-“ Suddenly her cough was back and she had to bend over to still be able to breathe between fits. Again, blood stained the ground and, this time, her uniform. She felt Marina rub her back and slowly the coughing fit stopped.

Natalya didn’t look up but Dumblebore’s voice sounded concerned, “You’re exhausted, Ms. Meklin. You all have been pushing yourselves too hard. Is it really worth it? Taking years off your life to fight in a war? Risking your health and very magic?” Natalya tensed to yell at him again, but Yevdokia was quicker, “You’ve made your position clear, thank you. If that is all, take your wand and leave.” Natalya felt strong enough to stand straight again. Her commander was holding out Dumbledore’s wand, her face furious. She didn’t doubt that Marina had a similar look on her face. “You haven’t answered my question.” The strange Wizard said, voice now hard. Yevdokia scoffed, “Is it worth fighting in this war? Yes, Mr. Dumbledore from England, it is. I’d continue flying twelve hours and more a night until the end of times, if need be. If it would end the war tomorrow, I’d fly straight into hell! And I have no doubt that my friends share my feelings. So take your wand and leave. Go back to England and be safe, while we fight for our loved ones. But if, Gods forbid, a war someday forces _you_ to fight, I hope that you’re not as cowardly then as you are now. I hope you have the guts to fight when _your_ loved ones are threatened. Let us fight for ours and leave!”

For a moment the air seemed to be bristling with magic, as Dumbledore and Yevdokia locked eyes. The man clearly wasn’t used being defied in such a way, Natalya thought, that much was obvious. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the tension disappeared. “I hope you reconsider, Ms. Bershanskaya. This cannot end well.” He sighed. “Fuck off!” Yevdokia said, still holding out his wand. Dumbledore looked sad for a moment, but he took the wand and left the tent without another word or glance at them. They followed him outside, hands back at their wands in case he tried anything, but he just walked a few steps away from them and disapparated with a soft _crack_.

“Well, that was something...” Marina said after some moments, “I’m glad you were there with me, otherwise I’d have thought I’m hallucinating.” The commander didn’t react to the attempt at humour though, she just sighed, “I wish I was, Marina...” Natalya felt the same. If one Wizard could find them, couldn’t others as well? Would he go and tell the Germans? He certainly seemed disappointed in them, and angry. Yevdokia seemed to have reached a similar conclusion, “We need more security here. She said as she turned around, “Do you think Sergey knows how to perform the _fidelius_?”

\----------

Sofiya yawned. She wanted nothing more than to just lie down and sleep, but immediately after her meeting with the strange man, Yevdokia had ordered them to gather away from the base. No explanation or anything, just a friendly ‘Get out of your bed or I’ll hex you!’. The commander wanted to increase security, and she could understand that, but why did they have to leave their rooms for that? Sofiya’s eyes slowly closed. Maybe she could sleep standing up...

“Listen up, Night Witches!” Yevdokia’s voice startled her awake, “The man who visited us earlier said he was fighting against Grindelwald. He told me that the german bastard knows about us and plans to expose us to the magical world after the war is over.” That woke Sofiya up better than any coffee she ever had, and a quick glance around told her that she wasn’t the only one. “Apparently he wants not only to get rid of the Muggles, but also of the Muggle-born. And since we’re currently involved in this war, his claims might seem valid to the pure-bloods.” At this there were angry whispers in the crowd. Yevdokis raised her hands to silence them. “He wanted us to quit fighting and come with him to England, so that neither Grindelwald nor our Ministry could get to us.” Now there were angry shouts of “How dare he!” and “We’re not cowards!”. Sofiya joined in, voicing her disagreement. Yevdokia smiled at their reactions. “Calm down Night Witches! Marina, Natalya and I told him to go fuck himself.”

The Night Witched cheered at that, and Sofiya happily joined in. How dare he order them around, wanting them to drop everything they fought for! The commander let them continue for a few moments, clearly enjoying their reactions. Then she raised her hands for silence again. “I’m glad you agree with my decision. We’re in this together, and as your commander I don’t keep any secrets from you. As to why I had to kick you out of your beds, we have to increase our security. Sergey has agreed to cast the _fidelius_ so that we might be spared any further visits. I, as your commander, will be the secret-keeper, so just stay out here for a few minutes longer, then you can return to your beds.”

Sofiya was intrigued. The _fidelius_ was a powerful piece of magic and not everybody could cast such a spell. Among them maybe Yevdokia or Marina were powerful enough but considering their exhaustion it could end badly. That the commander trusted Sergey was... She didn’t know how to feel. Sure, he had been of great help and his potions were by now the only thing keeping them flying. But still, she thought, he was a Noble, and you couldn’t trust them.

She watched closely as he performed the complex incantation, but to her knowledge he didn’t mess it up. Yevdokia glowed silvery white for a moment like she was supposed to and then... Sofiya furrowed her brow. She knew the base was around here somewhere, after all she had been there just ten minutes ago. She had looked right at it when the spell was cast. But now... That group of dead trees looked unfamiliar. She must have somehow turned around, Sofiya thought as she tried to spot the base. She certainly wasn’t the only one, all the Witches looked confused.

Yevdokia smiled, “I guess it worked. You should see your faces! Thank you, Sergey.” The commander then went to everyone of them and whispered the location of the base into their ears. “Follow the beaten path from the creek north and keep the dense bushes to your left, the base is right next to a group of four birch trees.” She whispered in Sofiya’s ear and suddenly the base was there again just as they had left it. Sofiya smiled. Reading about the spell in class was one thing, but actually experiencing it was totally different. It just shows what magic is truly capable of if you know how to use it, she thought as she yawned again. Now that her bed had appeared again, she wasted no time in getting there before Yevdokia decided on more spells. They should rest now. After all, what were the chances of two visitors in one day?

\----------

It was quiet in the common room. No one talked or laughed, no games were played, no books were read. Yet Wladimir enjoyed the silence as he stirred the cauldron. Looking at his watch he saw that noon had already passed and the Witches had yet to emerge from their rooms. It wouldn’t matter, the stew he made would be edible for two days. He wasn’t the best cook, and their rations weren’t really suitable as ingredients, but everyone could make a stew. The more days like this passed, the more he doubted the women even tasted what they ate.

A scratching on the door took him back to reality. He sighed as he walked to the door and opened it. Little Leshy sat outside in the snow, softly meowing at him. “Either come in or leave again, I’m not letting the warmth out.” Wladimir told him. He knew that some animals could understand human language, but this magical cat was extraordinarily smart and seemed to understand every word. The black ball of fur meowed again before hurrying inside, heading straight to the fire and the cauldron. “Keep your paws off, that’s hot! And not for you!” Wladimir said as he closed the door and went back to stirring.

Leshy just sat near the flames and looked at him with his disturbingly green eyes. How the wizards managed to breed this kind of cat, Wladimir didn’t want to know. Though he planned to ask Polina at some point in the future if she had ever seen a dragon. The Kneazle meowed again. “I can’t give you anything, this isn’t cat food. Why don’t you go outside and catch some mice? You're a cat, aren't you?” Leshy inclined his head, as if to ask if he was serious. “Look at me, talking to a cat.” Wlamidir muttered as he grabbed a bowl. He might as well eat now if there was nothing to do. Leshy meowed angrily. “Right, right, Kneazle, sorry.” The soldier muttered absently as he filled his bowl. Then he stopped mid-motion, slowly turning his head to look at Leshy again. Had he just been corrected by him? Was he losing his mind as well?

He shook his head, grabbed some slices of hard bread and sat down, closely watching the Kneazle as he ate. Leshy seemed satisfied though, he lied down on the floor, his feet towards the fire, seemingly content for the moment. When Wladimir was almost finished eating, the door opened again. “Hello Sergey.” Wladimir said without looking up. “Hello. Any news?” – “No, they’re still sleeping.” – “Well, that’s to be expected.”

The Wizard sat down opposite of Wladimir with a sigh. He waved his wand and his bowl filled itself and floated over to him, along with some bread. For a while they sat in silence, Sergey eating, Leshy dozing and Wladimir contemplating how easy chores would be if he was a Wizard. Then the soldier looked up, “Say, Sergey, have you ever seen a dragon?” – “Hm?” – “I was thinking, you Wizards have bred some kind of intelligent cat, er, Kneazle, so there must be other creatures. Polina told me a bit about them some time ago, but not very much.” – “Well...” Sergey stopped eating and leaned back, looking into the distance, “When I was still in school, I think it was ’25 or ’26, my family and I took our vacation in Romania. We toured the Solomonar Dragon Reserve there.” The Wizard smiled, “They are truly majestic creatures. We saw a Hungarian Horntail, a Ukrainian Ironbelly and two Romanian Longhorns there. The Horntail breathed fire at us from... I guess 300m away and we still could feel the heat. That was a nice summer...” He trailed off.

Wladimir was silent for some time. So that confirms is, he thought, dragons actually exist and you can even go and look at them like at the zoo. Maybe he could... “Um, please don’t laugh at me, but...” – “But what?” Sergey asked, turning back to his food. “Would it be possible for me to visit that Reserve? After this war is over I mean? I’d really like to see dragons...” Wladimir asked, figuring it couldn’t hurt. He didn’t think that Sergey would curse him for his request, and the laughter he could deal with. Wouldn’t be the first time a Wizard or Witch laughed at him, he thought.

Sergey didn’t laugh, though. He looked at his food, his brow furrowed in thought. “Well...” He finally said, “I don’t know their visitor policy. Also if this war reaches the Carpathians I don’t know how they will handle it.” Wladimir’s heart sank. Well, it was worth a try, he thought. “But...” Sergey continued, “Sure, why not? The Romanians have their own Ministry, I can move freely there. Hell, if we survive this war, I’ll take the whole Regiment, my treat.” Wladimir looked up, a smile spreading across his face. He would see dragons! Real, actually existing dragons! He couldn’t believe his luck! “Thank, you, Sergey! Thank you! I-“ – “Don’t mention it.” Sergey waved him off, “They don’t charge admission. You have to travel through a Ministry-portkey for security reasons, but they charge next to nothing for that.”

The rest of the early afternoon passed with Wladimir asking question after question about dragons and Sergey trying to give satisfying answers until the first Witch emerged from her room. They ended their conversation, not wanting to disturb them while they ate, but Wladimir couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. He would see dragons! Now he just had to survive the war, but he was with Witches and a Wizard, that had to count for something, right?

\----------

“Alright, Night Witches! Drink your potion, then mount up!” Yevdokia ordered. Here's to another grueling twelve hours, she added in her thoughts as she drank the pepper-up. It was the middle of December now she guessed, and still the Generals insisted on the twelve-hour-flights. The nights started to blend together and she wondered if they wanted to fly them to death. At this rate they were like walking corpses already. Maybe they should just refuse. They had done all they could, but the human body had its limits. Yet somehow she doubted that Zhukov would understand that complain.

Natalya’s hand on her shoulder pulled her from those thoughts. She turned and saw Wladimir running towards them, a piece of paper in his hand. He stopped in front of her, handing her the note with a huge smile on his face. Yevdokia looked at the scrap. ‘11th December ’42, 5:30pm – New orders from HQ – Situation at front stable, no flying tonight – Report at HQ tomorrow 2:00pm’

Yevdokia looked up again in disbelief. Could it really be? “Wladimir, are you messing with me?” She asked the still smiling man. “No, Ms. Bershanskaya, the new orders just came in.” Yevdokia turned to the Witches. “Listen up! The front is stable! No flying tonight! You are dismissed!” After some moments of confused silence smiles spread through the regiment. Cheering began. Yevdokia felt Natalya pat her on the back, but she didn’t feel like joining in. She turned to her caster and forced a smile. “I’ll go lie down, Tali. Don’t celebrate too hard.” – “Aw, come on Doki! Stay a bit! Were finally free of that nightmare!” Her friend laughed, but the commander just shook her head and started walking towards the shed.

When Yevdokia was inside her room she shrugged off her coat and fell onto her bed. She curled up as she felt the tears coming. It was over, she thought, finally it was over. She felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders, as if she finally could breathe again. She didn’t know how long she lay there crying, but when the tears finally stopped she felt much better, as if it had cleansed her soul. She sat up and slowly got her breathing back to normal. It was finally over, was all she could think. Things will get better from here on.

When she raised her hands to clean her face she paused. Her right hand was shaking. How did she not notice that before? Yevdokia tried to will it to stop, but she couldn’t, even after she gripped the wrist with her other hand and tried to force it to stop. She sighed, maybe it was just because of the exhaustion. She laid down on her back and felt herself almost immediately drift off to sleep. Her hand slowly stopped shaking. Things would look better in the morning, she decided. Or noon. Whenever she awoke as long as it was before 1:30pm was her last thought before she fell asleep, a tiny smile on her face.

\----------

End Note: Things are getting better, victories are won and no more twelve hours. The (julian) year is coming to an end and the Battle of Stalingrad will soon end.

End Note 2: Keep in mind that this is the young(ish), somewhat impulsive greater-good Dumbledore and not grandfatherly, cryptic and old Harry-Potter-era Dumbledore. I hope his character fits, but even if not I doubt we’ll see him again, as he has his own problems to deal with. This was also one of those chapters that developed in my head long before the first word of this fic was written. Considering the serious route this whole thing took I think it doesn’t fit that well into the grand scheme, but I nevertheless wanted to include it, if only for the joy of having someone say ‘Fuck you’ to Old Man Dumbledore. Continuing on that thought, his backstory wasn’t really all that fleshed out in the HP-books, at least as I remember them, and he may very well have had his share of adventures. That and considering that he knows everybody who did something special makes it likely for me that he would have at least once visited the Night Witches, the only Witches to ever fight in a Muggle conflict.


	14. Dark is the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vacation; Peace; Confession; Boredom; Doom; Memories; Mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: Over 320 hits, a dozen Kudos and just 920 words less than the first HP-novel. Thank you all for your continued patronage! I’d say that’s reason enough to celebrate with an extra-long chapter 14, my longest yet at 25 pages in 'Word'! Not much more to say here, End Notes will be bigger.

Chapter 14 – Dark is the Night

TW: Graphic descriptions of injuries

HQ was as busy as ever as Yevdokia walked to the familiar war-room. She had slept for almost 15 hours and almost felt normal again. It would take a complete week off to fully recover from magical exhaustion, but for now it was good enough. Maybe the General would agree to her petition for some leave, her regiment was in desperate need of a break. Maybe he would explode again and have her shot. She would find out. At least her hand didn’t shake anymore.

As Yevdokia entered the room the usual scene greeted her, Zhukov and Vasilevsky stood around the table, motioning for her to approach. “Good afternoon, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel Bershanskaya,” Vasilevsky greeted her with a smile, “let me be the first to congratulate you on your successful missions.” – “Thank you, General Vasilevsky.” The Witch replied, returning his smile. He was definitely the kinder of the pair, she decided. General Zhukov cleared his throat, “Yes, congratulations.” He said before turning to the maps, “Now we’ve got the 6th Army surrounded and all hope of a successful counter-offensive on their part is crushed. All we need to do now is advance into the city and smoke them out like the rats they are. You will, for the time being, only attack special locations.” He ruffled through the papers on the table and handed her a list. “Here are your targets for tonight, consult map P-2 for the coordinates. You’ll mainly bomb supply depots or strongpoints for the time being, but sadly the situation is too fluid right now to just give you free reign. Questions?”

Yevdokia inhaled deeply and stood straight. Here goes, she thought, “Actually, General of the Army Zhukov, I have a request.” – “Yes?” – “Flying for twelve hours every night since November almost killed us, General. I would like to request a week of leave for me and my soldiers. We need to rest and replenish our energy.” Zhukov’s face hardened at her request. Yevdokia braced for his outburst, but he just took off his cap, ran his hand over his bald head and sighed. “I suppose that’s fair enough. But I can’t give you a week. Five days are the most I can spare you.” – “Thank you, General. I accept that.” Yevdokia smiled. Considering his temper that could have gone a lot worse, she thought, and five days should be enough if they didn’t do any magic during that time. “But you’ll have to continue flying through December, there are still many targets for you left. You can get the 4th of January until the 8th. In three weeks I should have enough planes at my disposal so I can spare you.” Yevdokia nodded. They would have to fly 21 days more, but they would manage. Koliada was on the 6th, having the day off would be a huge boost for morale. Maybe they'd even have a celebration. She wondered if she could get some fresh flour and milk for the buns, or at least some wine or chocolate...

General Vasilevsky cleared his throat, “Now, please look here and here," he gestured to the map, “See those supply depots? Those will be your targets for tonight. If you approach from the East, you should...” The rest of the briefing continued as usual, but Yevdokia was happier than she had been in a long time. Her thoughts involuntarily drifted off to the promised vacation. Maybe Stavropol would be retaken by January and she could visit her parents...

\----------

The common room finally was alive again. People talked, laughed, played games or read. It seemed somehow warmer, brighter, more friendly than during the ‘Nightmare Weeks’. Natalya sighed and cast a stronger silencing spell around her. The noise was getting on her nerves, she just wanted to write for a bit. Her pencil touched the empty page, but no fitting words came to her mind.

With a sigh she put the pencil down and thumbed through everything she had written thus far, looking for inspiration. The first pages were just her thoughts about how happy she was for the opportunity to fight, their training, the first oath... She didn’t want to be reminded of that. A sketch of their first base caught her interest. Natalya wasn’t really an artist, but it looked decent enough, as did the portrait of Yevdokia wearing her flying-cap on the next page. She sighed, maybe she should write a bit about the commander? Doki certainly deserved it. But what exactly? About their meeting with Dumbledore? She still wasn’t sure if that really happened or she had just hallucinated. Maybe she could ask Marina...

Natalya stood up and put the journal back in her pocket. She felt restless and had the room always been this warm? A quick wave of her wand cancelled the spell and she stepped outside of the shed. It was early evening and the sky began slowly turning orange, cloudless for once. Maybe a walk would calm her down, she decided before taking off in a random direction.

Sergey had warned them all about pepper-up-addiction. As if they didn’t know about that, Natalya thought angrily. The insomnia thankfully didn’t affect her, she had lost too much sleep for that, but the restlessness, irritability and random loss of focus was annoying. It would clear up in a week or so, but until then she couldn’t sit still for long.

Natalya stopped and looked around. In front of her were ruined houses and snowed in trenches. The place seemed deserted, no sound except the artillery reached her ears. Kamenyy, she thought. The front had moved further south and the place had been abandoned. She slowly wandered the streets, occasionally stumbling when she reached a snowed over crater of piece of debris she didn’t see. She stopped again at what she guessed had been the central square of the village. It looked beautiful in a sad way, she thought. Her friends had been shelled here, men had killed and been killed. The ruined houses whose occupants might never return, the trees hit by shells, random piles of crates at every corner somehow spoke to her. An important battle had been fought here, halting the German advance north for good. Now nothing except ruins remained, buried under a thick layer of snow. Ruins and, hopefully, a lot of dead fascists.

Natalya took out her journal and pencil and began sketching. She still didn’t know who exactly she journaled for: herself, her friends or the general public, but it calmed her. The restlessness evaporated with each line she drew and for some time she was at peace, the sketch of the winter square being the only thing taking up her mind.

The thundering of low flying planes destroyed her peace and quiet. She looked up and saw a formation of four planes approach her from the south. Natalya didn’t have such a deep knowledge of models and specs that Sofiya had, but she knew they were friendly, especially since they headed north. Ground-attack aircrafts, if she guessed correctly. On the one hand, she was happy that they were finally flying again during the day. The German air-superiority had apparently been broken. On the other hand, she was angry at them for disturbing her. Natalya sighed as she felt the restlessness return. She looked down at her journal. At least the sketch is finished, she thought as she put it away again and started walking back. The sun was setting and maybe dinner was ready by now. She would write something tomorrow, today was a day for pictures. Maybe one day, someone other than her would look at her pictures and read her words. If her entries didn’t suddenly end and no one was left to publish it...

\----------

Wladimir sat at his desk, bored out of his mind. The radio was silent for most of the time and at this point he had read all the books the Witches had to offer. The ones he understood anyway, he didn’t want to touch a book about magic. What if it was cursed and stole his hands? So he could do nothing other than sit in his chair, lean back and absently whistle half-remembered songs, lost in thoughts. The warming-charms were nice, though, he pondered. His standard-issue greatcoat had been charmed and he was comfortably warm despite the low temperatures and the wind. If only every soldier had one of these, he added, those poor devils at the front must get frostbite. Then again, from what he heard the Germans had almost no winter clothing. Good riddance to them, Wladimir thought as he smiled, let them feel a real winter! Russia defended herself if need be!

A young woman walked past his shed. “Polina! Hey, Polina!” Wladimir called, waving the young Witch over to him. Maybe a conversation would stop the boredom for a little while. “Yes? Do you need help with the radio?” The Witch asked with a smile. “No, but thanks for offering.” He replied, “Ummm...” Damn, he cursed in his head, he should really have thought about a topic before calling her over. “Yes?” Polina said, raising her brow. “Um... I wanted to ask... Do you celebrate Christmas?” He went with the first thing he could think about. The woman smiled, “Why, do you want to get me a present?” – “What? No! I mean...” Polina laughed, “It’s ok, I’m just teasing.”

She sat down on his desk, looking down on him, “But to answer your question, not really, no. First of all, it would be Hanukkah for me. That already happened, from the 3rd to the 11th this month.” Wladimir scolded himself. He really should think about things before he talked. Polina meanwhile continued, “But like I told you, I don’t really celebrate the holidays anymore. This year I would have made an exception, but...” – “I’m sorry I asked, Polina.” Wladimir added after she fell silent. “Not really your fault, no worries...” Polina said quietly. “Er... Do the other Witches celebrate Christmas?” The soldier asked, desperate to keep the conversation going.

Polina looked thoughtful at that, “It would surprise me, to be honest. Witches and Wizards, we have our own holidays. The solstices for example. I’m not allowed to attend, but there will be a big celebration at the Temple of Perun in a few days. But that’s just for people who honour the Old Gods. And are male.” She added bitterly, “But everybody celebrates Koliada.” – “Wait, isn’t that Christmas?” – “Not exactly, but it’s really fun!” Polina said, her smile returning, “It’s named after the Old God of Winter, Kolyada, before the Muggles converted it to Christmas. Everybody goes to Magical Moscow or another magical community for the holiday. You get together, laugh, drink, go from house to house and sing songs. Everybody is equal for the day, and the children get to stay up late and eat lots of sweets. People bake buns and give them away as thanks for singing or just as presents. At school we got the same food as the House of Nobles for the evening feast and had giant snowball battles during the day.” The young woman smiled fondly at the memory and Wladimir couldn’t help but join her.

Polina pat his shoulder, “Hey, maybe this year you can join us! We’ll have our own Koliada here. You’re a good cook, I’m sure you can make buns if we can get some good flour and milk. It’s on the night of the 6th of January, we even have the day off. What do you say?” – “Uh, well... I’m not a wizard, so...” The Witch scoffed, “Doesn’t matter as long as you can sing and be merry. You’ve lived with us for half a year, you’re an honorary Wizard at the very least.” Polina laughed. The soldier swallowed. Honorary Wizard? “Well... I’ll ask Ms. Bershanskaya, but if she says yes I’ll gladly join you.” Wladimir said hesitantly. “That’s the spirit!” Polina laughed, “And if you really want to, and if you really like me, you can give me a present.” Wladimir sputtered and turned away, feeling his face flush. The young woman just laughed and laughed at his discomfort. “Ah, did I tell you about my conversation with Sergey?” He asked, desperate to change the subject, “I asked him one day if dragons existed and he told me all about this Reserve in Romania...”

Time passed quickly as they talked about holidays and how to best fight a dragon. When the sun set and Polina had to go prepare for flying, Wladimir felt sad. It had been such a nice conversation once the awkwardness about presents had passed. But then again, he thought turning back to his radio, tomorrow was another day. If he wanted to be a good honorary Wizard, he should learn about their world.

\----------

It was early in the day but Sofiya couldn’t sleep anymore. She sat in the common room, curled up in an armchair under a blanket. It was still somewhat dark inside the shed, the dawn was some time away. The young woman still felt tired, but the worst of the pepper-up withdrawal had passed. She liked living without exploding at the slightest inconvenience. Maybe she could restart the repairs of her old broom. The replacement was nice and all, undistinguishable from any other of their brooms in performance, but... She had grown attached to ‘Number 4’ and wanted to use it again. Maybe they should give their brooms names. Pilots did it with their planes, why not Witches with brooms? She would name hers...

Sofiya heard a door open and looked up from her thoughts. Khiuaz stood in the common room, rubbing her bloodshot eyes. Her hair was in disarray and she still was wearing her flying clothes, boots and all. “Can’t sleep either, huh?” Sofiya asked. “No...” The other woman sighed, pulling up a chair next to her. “At least the mission today went well. Bet those Germans slept even less than we did.” Sofiya offered, not wanting the silence to return now that she had company. Khiuaz scoffed, “If you can call being unconscious for nine or more hours ‘sleeping’.” – “Well, technically sleeping is being unconscious.” – “Well, maybe but... I don’t know, I just... I miss dreaming about nice things. Falling asleep and immediately waking up hours later, still feeling tired is...”

Silence fell between them. Sofiya thought back to her own nights these days. She never dreamt much, but when she did now it was of losing her hand, of blood, screams, small black clouds in the sky and a strange feeling of... regret?. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, absently flexing her hand under the blanket. It started hurting again whenever she thought about that night. “Do you have nightmares?” Sofiya’s words startled Khiuaz visibly, but she didn’t comment on it, “Do you want to talk about it?” – “No, not really...” Came the response and again silence fell.

“It’s just...” Khiuaz began after long minutes, “Whenever I dream, I see you getting hurt. And sometimes you... you lose more than just fingers and I wake up and...” The Witch rubbed at her eyes, “I don’t want to dream about that. I miss the days before the war...” – “We all do, Khiuaz.” Sofiya sighed. She didn’t really want to think about her family right now. Again, the room was silent.

“Sofiya?” Khiuaz said, almost whispering her name, “About that day I came to your tent...” The young woman looked up at that. She didn’t really have much time to think about that topic. She had always seen Khiuaz as a friend, yes, but her behaviour that day... They started the ‘Nightmare Weeks’ soon after and during _that_ she barely thought anything at all when she wasn’t in the air. Now, over three weeks after the ordeal, she was occupied with catching up on sleep and broom maintenance. Sofiya studied her friend. Khiuaz looked... sad, spent. She had slumped in her seat and her head hung low, looking tired beyond her years. Sofiya missed her laugh, she hadn’t heard it since the beginning of the ‘Nightmare Weeks’.

“I, um... I was worried about you. Scared.” Khiuaz continued, finally looking up, “I don’t know how this war will end, but... If I don’t tell you, I’ll regret it...” – “Tell me what, Khiuaz?” Sofiya asked softly. Their gazes met and she saw tears in her friend’s eyes. She didn’t want Khiuaz to cry, she realized. She just wanted her to be happy, to make her laugh again. She looked much more beautiful when she smiled, her eyes narrowed in delight, her even teeth flashing white... Sofiya paused at those thoughts. What was going on with her? This was exactly why she threw herself in her broom repairs. To keep her mind on the important stuff. This was a war, after all, and she had better things to do than-

“Sofiya?” Khiuaz asked concerned. “Hm? Sorry... I was just... thinking.” Sofiya answered, startled but thankful for the distraction from her thoughts. “What I wanted to tell you back in the tent, um... I...” Khiuaz faltered, but inhaled deeply and continued, sitting upright, her gaze fixed ahead, her fists clenched at her side, “I... I love you, Sofiya. I have since fourth year, since the day you said I was your best friend. I love you and I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. When I saw you getting injured, I... I realized I had to tell you. I wanted to wait until after the war, but...” Khiuaz fell back into the armchair, spent, tears glistening in her eyes.

Sofiya’s head swirled. She... loved her? All the time they had spent together, the fun they had in their free-time, all the conversations, when they huddled for warmth the week the Nobles had sabotaged the heating at Durmstrang... It slowly pieced itself together in her head. How could she have been so blind? But... did she feel the same? She liked Khiuaz, a lot. Was this how her friend felt about her? Sofiya had never been ‘in love’. She had her crushes like every teenager, but those had disappeared after some weeks. Yet Khiuaz... She always felt at ease around her. They could talk about everything and nothing, time just seemed to fly by when they did. And when they drifted apart for some time after school... Sofiya remembered how strangely empty she had felt, not knowing why at the time. But... She had never been with a woman. Or a man for that matter, but still... Could they make it work? What would the others say? Would they keep it secret or not? What if she realized she didn’t like Khiuaz in that way? What if it was the other way around?

When Sofiya saw that Khiuaz had begun crying she stopped following those thoughts. Even if it wouldn’t work, Khiuaz deserved to be happy. Maybe it would work. Sofiya didn’t know. But she knew that she didn’t want to see her friend cry. And if she was completely honest with herself... She wanted to try. Maybe there was something to those feelings for her friend. They both deserved to be happy, and no one should be alone in life. Sofiya cleared her throat, why did she want to cry all of a sudden? “I... I feel similar about you too, you know? I didn’t know it was love, but... The way you laugh, how you smile... I... I want to see you happy again, Khiuaz. To see you laugh again.” She slowly stood up, walked over to Khiuaz, kneeled down and hugged her friend. The young woman relaxed in her embrace, crying silently. “It’s ok, Khiuaz...” – “You... you...” The Witch looked at Sofiya, a small smile on her face, “You... Love me too?” Sofiya turned her head away from her friend before looking into her eyes again, “I... I need to think, but... I think... yes.”

They stayed in their embrace a long time, both happy to hold each other close. Khiuaz was the first to pull away. Her eyes were still wet, but she was smiling again. That small, enchanting smile of hers, Sofiya thought. Then it disappeared, “But... What if something happens to you? Or to me? I mean-“ – “Khiuaz, stop.” Sofiya interrupted her, “Nothing will happen. We’re going to be ok. We’re Witches, and good ones at that. It’s going to be ok. I’m not going to die, you’re not going to die, no one is. We’re the Night Witches, Khiuaz! We fear nothing, others fear us!”

Khuiaz’ face lit up at that, “Did you practice that speech?” She asked, smiling. “Well... I mean...” Sofiya looked away. Sure, it felt somewhat forced and awkward, but she believed what she had said. A hand gently gripped her chin and turned her head back. “I didn’t want to make fun of you, Sofiya. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Sofiya raised her own hand to tuck some of Khiuaz’ hair behind her ear. She looked better that way, not as frazzled as she had when she first entered the room. Had that been only minutes ago?

As if pushed by some invisible force, both of their heads slowly came closer. Sofiya closed her eyes, could this really be happening? Then their lips met and time seemed to freeze. In that moment, Sofiya knew how she felt about Khiuaz. She knew that she wanted to be together with her. She knew nothing bad would happen to them, because they always would have each other. All her troubles and bad thoughts melted away, consumed by the love she felt for her friend.

When they finally pulled apart, the sun had risen outside, basking the common room in a warm orange glow. Or maybe it was just Khiuaz making her life brighter. Sofiya chuckled nervously, “Well... that was...” – “I know...” Her friend agreed. They looked at each other again, both smiling at each other in that way only new lovers can. Things would be alright, Sofiya thought, things would be alright. One more mission, and they had all of Koliada to talk about this...

\----------

Marina yawned. She was less tired since they switched back to their old rhythm, but it was still exhausting. Her nosebleeds and nightmares had thankfully stopped, so that was a plus. Then again, some of her hair had started to turn grey from the exhaustion. Her friends teased her because of it, calling her ‘Babushka’, but it was all in good fun and, considering what could have happened, she got off lightly. Thankfully her googles and flying-cap hid her grey hair, and she tended to wear them longer than usual. Not because she was vain, no. She just didn’t like the jokes.

She could be sleeping right now, she thought longingly. But no, the mighty General Zhukov wanted another night, moving their leave back one day. He certainly had his reasons, Marina didn’t doubt that, but still... The timing could have been better. Everybody had been looking forward to getting time off. Well, she added in her thoughts, tomorrow I’ll sleep all day to make up for it. That was something to look forward to.

The young Witch looked around the landing area. They would take off in about five minutes, but her friends were milling around, talking and joking again. Those dark weeks in November and December seemed like a bad dream compared to now.

A movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention. Marina turned her head away from her friends and looked into the grey night. She froze. A large dog, no, a wolf stood at the edge of the camp, watching them. He was black as the night and didn’t seem to have left any tracks in the snow. He was looking right at her, inclining his head as if he was curious, his stance relaxed, almost friendly...

A slap on her back startled Marina. “Hey, Babushka, what happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Olga laughed. Marina turned to her. “Olga, look there!” She pointed to the wolf, “Do you see that?” – “See what? The night?” – “No! Put on your googles and look!” – “Marina, I still can’t see anything except snow and dead trees. Are you alright?” Olga asked, now worried. Marina looked back at the edge of the camp. No wolf stood there, just grey, undisturbed snow. “I could’ve sworn...” She muttered, looking back to Olga. Just as her friend opened her mouth to respond, Yevdokia shouted, “Alright, Night Witches! Mount up, we’re flying! Let’s give ‘em hell and earn our vacation!”

Marina mounted her broom, her caster behind her. It must have been a delayed effect of the exhaustion, she thought, why would a wolf come near humans in the first place. Leshy would have noticed. Kneazles and canines didn’t get along, everybody knew that. There was a famous magical play about their relationship. Still, in the final moments before they lifted off, Marina threw a quick glance back at the spot. Nothing except snow and night. Yes, she decided, I’m seeing things. Marina flew up in the sky with the rest, her thoughts now focused on the broom and the mission. Bombing some Germans would ease her mind...

\----------

In moments like these, Yevdokia doubted if they really were flying over Stalingrad. The wasteland of ruins and bodies, ash and snow, craters and trenches could never have been a thriving city just half a year ago. Yes, the German 6th Army was trapped, but they didn’t want to surrender it seemed. And as long as they remained in Stalingrad, the Night Witches had to add to the destruction.

What would future generations think about this battle, the commander pondered as she led her formation to their first target. Would the city be rebuilt? Would they leave it an empty waste? Would there be songs and monuments about their victory here? Would the dead ever be at peace, knowing that victory had been achieved through their sacrifice?

Yevdokia shook her head. She found her thoughts wandering more often now, but that could just be a late effect of the pepper-up withdrawal. Now she needed to focus. Maybe January would see the Red Army finally victorious. She would do her best to help them achieve their victory. The Germans would pay for their invasion. For all the sorrow and pain they caused. A bright flash from the dark night sky would punish them, delivered by Muggle-born Witches. She smiled, “Night Witches! Target ahead! That house ahead with the roof still intact! Let’s rob them of their sleep! Make ready!”

What was one more destroyed house? What was one more night of battle? If it helped end the war, she would do all that and more...

\----------

Flying over Stalingrad was depressing, Marina thought. All the destruction, the corpses lying out in the open, the pockmarked earth... And still, she thought with a smile, we will win. Through their collective efforts, the German 6th Army had been trapped and their counter-attacks had all been beaten back. Still, Yevdokia had warned them that this battle could last a while longer. Stalingrad was no longer important as an industrial target, the bombings and fighting had seen to that, but now it was about pride, for both sides. She didn’t really understand it, but she could see how it could have happened. Both sides had invested far too much to just give up, especially the Red Army during the summer and autumn, when the situation had been dire.

Flying got more dangerous in the last few days. The searchlights were lit all night, scanning the sky in certain areas as if they were expecting them. So far they had managed to avoid injuries, although there had been shot at a few times. Thankfully the aim of most gunners was bad or they just grossly misjudged the distances, since they never came close to actually hitting them.

“Alright, Night Witches! Next target ahead! That group of houses on the far side of the square!” The commander ordered. Marina acknowledged and adjusted her course a bit. Their target was illuminated by the searchlight, an easy picking.

Suddenly the dark night lit up. “FUCK!” Marina yelled, forcing her broom to the left. They had been spotted by a searchlight. Before anyone could do more than curse, a voice sounded in her ear-piece, “Continue attack! We’re too close anyway! Fast and low! Split up afterwards!” Yevdokia ordered.

Marina cursed again and turned back to her target. The first tracers had begun to fly at them, but they were still way off. They were maybe 500m away, they could do it. Another MG opened up fire to the left of her. The tracers zipped by a lot closer, as more and more guns opened fire. “Hold on!” Marina yelled to Olga as she began to sway left and right, hoping to avoid the bullets. It was madness, she thought, why were there so many guns?

Their targets came closer and closer, maybe 200m left now, she guessed. The sky was bright as day through her goggles, searchlights and tracers alike lighting up the night. “We can’t do this!” Someone yelled, maybe Sofiya? Marina was too busy evading the bullets to care much about that. “No! Stay on target! Almost there!” Came the response.

Suddenly everything flashed white for a split second and Marina’s world exploded in pain. She felt herself slumping forward, taking the broom into a dive. She wanted to force the head up again, but her fingers didn’t respond. She wanted to scream in pain, but her breath had been forced from her lungs and she tasted blood. Marina began to slip and watched with horror as the broom flew away from her. As if in slow motion she saw Olga scramble forward to the pilot’s seat, one hand extended towards her. Olga's mouth was open, but Marina couldn’t hear anything except the wind in her ears. Panic rose inside of her. Why couldn’t she breathe? Why couldn’t she feel her hands and feet? What had happened? How?

Blackness creeped into her vision. She felt tears well up in her eyes. Marina wanted to scream, to rage. This wasn’t how it should end! She couldn’t die! What about her friends? Her family at home? Mother? The blackness closed in on her. No, she thought, no, no...

Then everything was black.

\----------

“MARINA!” Olga screamed. She reached out to her friend, but she was already slipping. “NO! MARINA! MARINA!” She was too late, her friend had fallen off the broom. Olga pulled herself forward with her hands, desperate to reach the pilot’s position before the broom crashed. "What happened?" Yevdokia asked, voice sounding strained. "Marina as been hit! She's fallen off the broom!" Olga yelled as she finally got the thing under control again and pulled up. "I can see her! I'll get her and apparate to the base!" - "Olga, it's too dangerous!" - "I'll not leave her here!" Olga responded as she circled around to land. If her commander protested further, she didn't hear it. The small, dark figure lying on the ground below her took all of her attention as she descended further, desparately hoping that Marina had somehow survived.

Olga didn’t wait for the broom to touch the ground, she leapt off it as soon as she could, leaving it on the ground behind her. She could see Marina lie on the snow just some meters away. She must have survived the fall. She had her wand and was quick, surely she could have cast a feather-fall-spell or a cushioning-charm. The searchlights still scanned the sky and the AA still shot at her friends, but Olga paid no attention to that.

In a few seconds she was at her friend. Marina lay on her back, her arms and legs twisted into odd angles. Dark spots glistened on her coat and blood already drenched the snow around her. Marina’s eyes were open, but instead of holding their usual friendly glimmer, they just stared at the sky, empty of all life. Lines of blood ran from her mouth and nose and her face was twisted in an expression of pain.

Olga sank to her knees. No, was all she could think, no... Not Marina!

Olga heard shouts behind the ruins in front of her. With great effort she tore her eyes away from her friend to look around. The debris around her offered some cover, but she was still very close to their target. The Germans would be here any second now, they must have seen her land. She needed to disappear, but she couldn’t leave her friend behind. With a wave of her wand she fetched her broom. She heard a loud bang and felt something fly closely past her head, but she didn’t care. With one hand she gripped Marina, with the other her wand and broom. A loud _crack_ and she was gone.

As soon as she reappeared, Olga broke down, unable to do anything except cry. A pair of hands gripped her gently from behind and she turned and cried against the person holding her. Time seemed to fly for her, after what felt like a few seconds she was gently pushed back and turned around again. Yevdokia stood in front of her, tears shimmering in her eyes but seeming a lot more composed than her. “Olga...” She said gently, “What happened?” – “We... We were just flying...” Olga said between sobs, “Ma-... Marina, she flew left and right, to evade the... then suddenly she... she slumped forward and fell... I... I couldn’t do anything, Yevdokia... She just fell...” The commander embraced her, gently rubbing her back, “I... I had to take control of the broom... I couldn’t help her...” Olga continued, “I... landed and ran to her... Marina, she... she was already dead... I... I...” She couldn’t continue as she was forced to think back at her friend lying in the snow. “It’s ok, Olga, it’s ok. It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have done anything.” Yevdokia said as she continued her embrace, her voice filled with sadness.

Olga didn’t know how long she stood there and cried, but at some point she was led into the shed by her friends. She didn’t hear what was said to her, but when a vial was offered to her she mechanically drank the potion. She felt tired almost immediately. Her sadness gradually disappeared to be replaced by indifference as her eyes closed and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

\----------

Yevdokia watched Sergey and Aleksandra lead Olga away to the shed. She just stood there, looking at nothing and unable to act. What could she do anyway? Marina was dead, she had seen her body, her empty eyes. She wanted nothing more than to cry, to lose herself in her sadness as Olga had, but she was the commander. She should say something, give orders, comfort her friends. But that wouldn’t change anything. Marina was dead and it was her fault. She was leading the formation, she could have aborted the attack.

Yevdokia felt her chest tighten. It became hard to breathe. She had known about the AA. The searchlight had been scanning the sky before they even began their attack. Why did she insist on continuing? It was her fault that Marina was dead. She would have turned 24 in March. She had such a bright future. What would she tell the others? What would she tell Marina’s family? They would blame her, and they would be right. Marina didn’t have to die today. All Yevdokia had wanted was to fly successfully on their last night before their time off. If Zhukov hadn’t ordered another night of flying, if she hadn’t been so adamant about giving her best, Marina would still be here.

“Yevdokia! Hey! Look at me! Doki!” Someone shook her gently and the world returned to her. Valentina stood before her, looking worried. “What, Valentina?” – “Are you alright?” – “I’m fine, what is it?” – “Well...” Valentina began, looking at the ground, “Olga couldn’t have done anything. She... Marina was hit by multiple bullets, one severed her spine, another hit both lungs. Even if-“ Yevdokia raised her hand and Valentina stopped. “I... I don’t want to hear it, Valentina.” The other Witch nodded, “Ok. I’ve put her in one of the hangar-tents and placed a stasis-charm over her.” Yevdokia wiped away the tears in her eyes, “Thanks, Valentina.” – “No problem.” The young woman mumbled as she walked away again.

Yevdokia looked around. The landing area had cleared, only the brooms remained. The brooms and a spot of blood-stained snow. She slowly walked over to where her friend had appeared and banished the snow with a quick spell. The commander stood there silently for a long time, paralyzed by her grief, her tears falling silently on the frozen earth. Marina was gone, was all she could think. She’s gone and it’s my fault.

When dawn broke Yevdokia finally ripped herself away from the spot. She walked to the shed, through the empty common room and finally fell on her bed, burying her head in her shaking hands. One thought repeated over and over in her mind: It’s my fault.

\----------

“Ms. Bershanskaya? It’s time! Yevdokia? Are you even in there?” Sergey said as he knocked on the door. No one answered him. He sighed. Marina’s death had hit them hard, himself included. In the privacy of his room he, too, had cried that night. He didn’t dwell on those thoughts, he needed to fetch Yevokia for the funeral. The commander hadn't been seen all day, so it had been up to the rest to make some decisions. The Night Witches had decided to bury Marina the day after she had been killed. What was there to wait for? He had been tasked to find a suitable spot together with Wladimir, although he had wondered how the Muggle could help him. Maybe the women just wanted to be alone for a bit, he reasoned. He could understand that. When he had seen her body last night... He felt something inside of him break. Of all the people who could have died, he didn't expect it to be her. Marina Raskowa, who had endlessly bugged the Ministry about this unit, who had been so delighted to explain to that Muggle General that Witches were flying for him. Who had come to him at his lowest and pulled him out of his sadness, changing his perspective and giving him a reason to fight.

Sergey raised his hand again to knock, but the door opened. "It's ok, I'm here." Yevdokia muttered as she left her room. She walked towards the door outside but stopped. "I... I can't do this, Sergey. I... I killed her, it was my fault. I can't go there..." Tears fell from her eyes as she stood there, shaking and crying. Sergey put an arm around her shoulder, "Yevdokia, you haven't killed her. The Germans did." - "But... But..." - "No. You're not at fault. You did your mission as best as you could." The young woman was silent at that. The former Noble gave her a few moments to compose herself, still hugging her sideways, "We have to go. She would have wanted you to be there." He said while leading her gently outside. She didn't resist but was still crying and shaking as they walked away from the base.

The frozen ground at the site had been cleared and a grave had been dug by Sergey earlier today. A group of barren birch trees stood above the dark hole, surrounded by dead bushes. In Summer the grave would look peaceful, Sergey thought, but now, in Winter, it was bleak. A simple casket was placed above the grave, help up by two wooden spars. The tombstone was simple and just bore Marina’s name, her birthday and her death-date. A podium had been transfigured and placed next to the grave. The Night Witches and Wladimir stood a few metres away from the grave in a loose half-circle. Leshy sat at Polina’s feet, looking at the ground, his green eyes missing their usual glow. Sergey urged Yevdokia to go to the podium. He felt that if she didn’t speak now, she never would. She didn’t resist him directing her there, but kept her eyes averted from the casket. Sergey let go of her and joined the crowd, his head bowed.

Tears were running down Yevdokia’s face but she didn’t wipe them away as she began her eulogy. Sergey guessed that a lot more tears would fall off her cheeks before the day was over. “I... I...” The commander began but stopped. She wiped away her tears, looked straight ahead and began anew, her voice more confident, “Marina was... She was my friend. She was two years under me at Durmstrang, but... I will never forget how we met. It was during the second week of her first year. I saw a young girl, Marina, scrubbing the toilets with a toothbrush. It was dirty work, but she had the most beautiful smile on her face. I asked her what she had done, and she told me she had called Professor Simonov a ‘big, mean hairy ape.’” A faint smile came to the commander’s face, “I asked her why she was smiling and if she liked cleaning toilets with a toothbrush. Marina just chuckled and said: ‘I smile because I stole his toothbrush.’ From that moment on we were friends.” Sergey heard small laughs from the crowd and he felt himself smile despite everything. Simonov had been a bully and had well deserved what happened to him.

Yevdokia’s smile disappeared as she continued, “She... she always cared about me, about all her friends. She cared so much she took up arms and convinced us to do the same. So that we could protect our loved ones. Losing her... It’s tearing me apart. But we have to continue. Marina is gone, but she will live on in our hearts. In our memories of her. In this Regiment. We’ll continue her fight. It’s what she would have wanted.” She turned towards the casket, the tears now again rolling down her face, “It’s my fault that you died, Marina. I ordered the attack to continue. I hope you can forgive me, wherever you are. I didn’t want this... It should've hit me... Marina, I...” Yevdokia stopped, overwhelmed by her crying. Natalya stepped out of the crowd, put her hands around the commander’s shoulders and led her away.

Sergey felt tears in his eyes at the scene. He didn’t know how the others felt, but he didn’t hold Yevdokia responsible. The Witches knew what could happen, they had been fired upon and wounded several times. Maybe he should talk to her, once some days had passed.

Polina stepped up next. She cleared her throat and began, not once looking up, but her voice was confident, if laden with sorrow, “Marina was my classmate at Durmstrang. We... weren’t exactly close until our later years, but still respected each other. I’ll never forget how she hexed Ivan Vasilis Demidov when he... made a remark about my family. Our friendship began that way. Marina always stood up for people, not just her friends. She cared about you. When she told me about this unit, I immediately wanted to join. Now, without her, it all seems... Empty. I, uh... I’m not good at this, but, Marina... I’ll miss you...” Tears fell down Polina’s face as she fetched a stone from her pocket and placed it on the tombstone before returning to the crowd.

Sergey wanted to speak next. He braced himself as he approached to podium, steeling himself. He looked up into the faces of the gathered Witches. All eyes were glistening with tears, most looked at the ground or the casket. He inhaled deeply and began, trying to keep his voice calm like he had learned all those years ago, “I remember last year, when Marina was bugging the Ministry to let her form what would become the Night Witches. She was ridiculed by us, ‘Mad Marina’ we called her. When I first came to your unit, I resented her.” At this all eyes were on him and some women, Natalya especially, looked shocked, but Sergey continued, “During my time with her I learned how wrong I was. Her drive to fight, to try to make a difference, however small, impressed me. When we were expelled, I was... you saw me. One day, Marina came to me. She didn’t ask how I was, she just told me to get better, to find something to fight for. I raged at her and hated her even more in those moments, but then... I began to understand how she, how you all must feel. Marina pulled me from the pit of despair I found myself in, she made me see a reason to fight for.” Sergey let his gaze wander over the assembles Witches, “You. I can help you and fight for you, fight with you. That this war may end, and that there may be no more suffering. I regret that it took me so long to come to my senses. Marina Raskowa has died for her ideals, but I will honour them by continuing. I can never thank her enough for rescuing me from my despair.” He turned towards the casket, “Marina, wherever you are, may you find peace. You made the world a better place through your actions, and the days without you will be darker.”

Sergey stepped away from the casket and rejoined the crowd. When he passed Yevdokia she weakly nodded at him and he returned the gesture. He may have been trained in public speaking, but it was never his strong suit and he never held a eulogy. He pondered over his words as the next speaker stepped up. His speech felt... forced, stilted, artificial. He was never good at speaking from the heart but preparing a speech for the funeral had felt... wrong. Marina sure would have ridiculed him for it, would have called him a ‘Noble asshole’. His heart clenched at her memory. He would miss her. Sergey just hoped that Marina had liked his speech, if only so that she could laugh at him in the afterlife. He would forgive her for that.

Khiuaz stepped up to the makeshift podium. She never raised her eyes from the ground, but her voice sounded composed as she spoke, “Marina... I... I met her in Durmstrang, like all of you. We never talked much there, she was three years above me. But... When Sofiya told me about the founding of this unit, I immediately wanted to join. She was always kind and never made fun of my origins. The... The world won’t be the same without her. I... I don’t know if this is fitting, but...” The young Witch inhaled deeply and began to sing, a slow, sorrowful melody that carried far in the silence:

_Dark night, only bullets are whistling in the steppe,_

_Only the wind is wailing through the wires, stars are faintly flickering._

_In the dark night, Marina, I know you are sleeping,_

_And at your grave we are left to wipe away our tears._

_How I loved the depths of your gentle eyes,_

_How I want to see them again!_

_This dark night separates us, Marina,_

_And the dark, troubled steppe has come to lie between us._

_I have faith in you, in you, my friend._

_That faith has shielded me from bullets in this dark night._

_I am glad, I am calm in deadly battle,_

_I know we will meet again, no matter what happens._

_Death is not terrible, we've met with it more than once in the steppe._

_And now here it looms over me once again,_

_I know that you’ll keep watch over your friends,_

_And so I know that nothing will happen to us!_

After her song ended, Khiuaz stepped away from the podium without another word and returned to her friends. She stood next to Sofiya and gave her a sideways hug that the other woman returned.

No one else stepped up to the grave and silence fell over the small gathering, only interrupted by occasional sobs. After some minutes Natalya stepped forward, stopping in front of the casket. She turned around and looked at the crowd, “If no one else wants so speak...” She said quietly, but no one came forward. After another minute she turned around again and drew her wand. With one motion the casket lifted gently into the air, with another the wooden spars disappeared, a third lowered the casket carefully down into the grave.

Sergey felt tears coming into his eyes. He didn’t wipe them away. The sobbing in the crowd got louder as the casket lowered. No one spoke, no music played, just silence and sorrow. When the casket disappeared from view, the tears ran down Sergey’s cheeks. The scene before him had something final. Marina was gone and she wouldn’t come back. With a last wave of her wand Natalya transported the earth from its heap back into the grave. When it was finished, she turned around, her face wet and eyes red as she walked to Yevdokia and hugged her tight.

One after another the crowd dispersed. Some lingered for a few minutes, but no one spoke a word. There was nothing to say.

After half an hour, only Sergey was left. He walked up to the tombstone, his eyes downcast, “Marina, I..." He swallowed, "I hope you’re at peace. May you see the end of this war someday. You haven’t fought in vain.” He waved his wand at the tombstone and turned around without inspecting his work. Marina would have liked it, he thought. He hoped. He never had a chance to tell her that he had been wrong about her in life, but maybe they would meet again. Magic was like that. Maybe he would be a better man by then. “Find peace, Marina...” He repeated quietly as he walked away, tears running down his cheeks again.

A lone tombstone remained at the site. A picture of a broom crossed with a wand sparking a single star was etched at the top. The plain writing read:

_Marina Mikhaylovna Raskowa, 28 th February 1919 – 4th January 1943, 588th Night Bomber Regiment ‘Night Witches’ _

_'Tis time, my friend, 'tis time! For rest the heart is crying._

_The days go swiftly by, hour after hour flying_

_Bears off some shred of life yet still we wish to live,_

_Though death must come, how soon? And joy is fugitive._

_Not happiness, but peace and freedom may be granted_

_On earth: this is my hope, who by one dream am haunted —_

_A weary slave, I plan escape before the night_

_To the remote repose of toil and pure delight._

\----------

With a soft _crack_ Yevdokia appeared on a deserted street. The portkey seemed to have worked, she was in a suburb of Moscow, northeast of the city. It was a beautiful morning, cold but clear. The street was lined with wooden houses. Most were surrounded by trees or hedges as well as large gardens. It must look beautiful here in summer, she thought as she looked around. Sadly the trees were dead and the houses covered by a thick layer of snow, although he street had been cleared recently. Yevdokia straightened her clothes. She had decided to wear her Muggle-uniform beneath her flying-coat. Should she run into trouble, which was very unlikely, she could pull rank and maybe confuse anyone long enough to cast a quick _confundus_. She breathed deeply before setting off to find ‘House No. 62, Potemkin Street’.

As she searched, Yevdokia couldn’t help but dread the meeting that was about to take place. How did you tell someone you’ve never met that their child died? And that it was your fault since you were her commander? She almost wished she couldn’t find the house, but she owed that much to Marina. If their roles were reversed, she would expect the same. Why couldn’t it have been her? The Night Witches would be fine without her, she wasn’t a good commander. Marina had brought them all together, she should’ve been in command, not her...

“Excuse me? Young lady?” A voice startled her out of her thoughts. Yevdokia turned to her left, reflexively slipping her wand into her hand. And old man stood at his fence, watching her. He was dressed in an old, patched greatcoat, simple trousers and fur boots. On his head he wore an old, faded budenovka with the ear-flaps hanging down, his brown eyes looked gentle and kind, like those of a grandfather. Upon seeing her uniform underneath the coat he said hurriedly, “I’m sorry, Officer, I meant no offence.” – “Umm, no problem.” Yevdokia said, unsure how she was supposed to act, “Er, since you live here, can you help me? I’m looking for the residence of Mikhail Raskow and Anna Raskowa. They live in House No. 62 Potemkin Street, yes?” – “Yes, they do. Anna is my niece, you know?” The old man said, nodding, “Just follow the street, their house is the seventh to the right. Are they in trouble?” He added, looking worried. “No, no.” Yevdokia shook her head, “Just a... family matter. Thank you.” She said as she turned to leave.

The house Marina grew up in looked like the others, snowed in and surrounded by bare trees. Yevdokia’s hand started to shake again and she buried it in her coat pocket. Damn, why now of all times, she thought as she walked to the door and knocked. Yevdokia’s heart pounded like mad. She couldn’t do this. She just wanted to run away, to disappear, to never show her face again. Maybe Marina’s mother wasn’t home. She could write a letter...

After a few moments the door opened and a woman looking like an older Marina stood in the doorframe. She wore a colourful jacket and a long, woolen skirt, looking just like a typical house-wife. Anna Raskowa smiled at the commander, but it faltered once she recognized the uniform. “Good day, officer. Can I help you?” Yevdokia was frozen for a moment, but now there was no way out, she would have to do this. “Um... I...” – “Why don’t you come in? You must be cold.” Anna said, stepping aside, smiling again. “Thanks...” Yevdokia muttered as she entered. The interior was decorated in paintings and small pieces of art. The entrance hall opened into the living room where two armchairs faced the burning fireplace and bookshelves lined the walls. On the mantlepiece was a framed picture of the family standing in front of the house. Yevdokia quickly looked away, she couldn’t bear to see a picture of her friend. Ahead was a small hallway, leading to the kitchen and likely the bedroom. A small, steep staircase led to the attic.

“Can I offer you a cup of tea or something to eat? You must be cold.” The house-wife said as she walked to the kitchen. “Ah, no. Thank you.” Yevdokia managed to say as she followed. The kitchen was small, but functional. The stove wasn’t burning, but it still was warm and homely. The shelves and counters were littered with kitchen utensils and preserved foods. A small table and four chairs were placed to her right in the dining room included in the kitchen, and a backdoor lead to the garden behind the house. “Mrs. Raskowa? Um... Can we sit please?” – “Of course.” Anna replied, gesturing to the chairs. Yevdokia took off her coat and hung it on the back of the chair before sitting down, hiding her right hand under the table. Anna gestured to the samovar on the table, “If you want tea I can heat some up for you, no problem at all, like I said.” – “No, thanks, Mrs. Raskowa, I’m not thirsty right now.” – “Well then, what brings you here, ah... Lieutenant Colonel?” Marina’s mother asked friendly.

Yevdokia inhaled deeply, “My name is Yevdokia Bershanskaya. You may not know me, Mrs. Raskowa, but I know your daughter Marina. We were at school... I mean Durmstrang together.” Anna’s face lit up, “Yes, Marina told me about you. You were best friends, right? You're a bit older than her, yes? How is she? I thought she would visit over Christmas, but I guess she’s just busy. Did she send you in her stead?” She asked, smiling. “Uh... Mrs. Raskowa...” – “Anna, please.” – “Anna... Do you not know what Marina was doing these past months?” The older woman looked thoughtful. “No, not really. I know she was working part time in Magical Moscow, something about potions I think, but we... We don’t talk much about _that_ part of her life.” Yevdokia felt her courage, meagre as it was, completely evaporate. Why, Marina, she cursed in her head, why didn’t you tell your family what you were doing?

“You're a Witch too, aren’t you?” Anna asked, “And you’re in the Army? I thought that Witches and Wizards kept out of such things. Isn’t that a law?” – “Well, yes, they- we try to keep our world secret, yes. But... Anna, Marina really didn’t tell you anything?” – “No. Why?”

The shaking of Yevdokia’s hand got worse. Dammit, she cursed, dammit, dammit, dammit! “Well...” She began, “When this war started, Marina... She often travelled to the Ministry of Magic. She wanted to find a way to contribute, to protect her family...You.” – “Is that why you’re here? To tell me that she has enlisted in the Army?” Anna asked, looking worried. Yevdokia shook her head, “Not exactly. The Ministry finally granted her request and Marina assembled eleven other Witches, myself included, to form a unit. We’re flying on brooms and cast explosive spells, like bombers. Umm... We’ve been fighting since June last year.” At this Anna stood up and began pacing, “I that why you’re here? To tell me that my daughter has been fighting for half a year without telling her parents? Why doesn’t she tell me herself?” – “Mrs.- Anna, please sit down.” Yevdokia said, unable to keep the sadness out of her voice.

When Anna had sat back down again, the commander continued, “Officially we’re the 588th Night Bomber Regiment, that’s why I’m wearing this uniform. Marina founded this unit, but I was elected commander and she happily took a position as my second-in-command. We’re currently serving directly under General of the Army Zhukov... at Stalingrad.” At this Anna’s eyes widened, but Yevdokia continued, “We’ve been flying at night, mainly bombing supply depots and other important targets. In August, Marina was hit in the leg during a mission, but suffered no long-term injury.” Anna clapped her hands in front of her mouth, tears began to glisten in her eyes. Yevdokia could only imagine how hard it must be to be told by a relative stranger that your child has been fighting in the war and been wounded, but the worst was yet to come.

Yevdokia quickly continued, afraid that she couldn’t start again if she stopped, “We’ve been flying almost every night since June, and the General tells me that we’re doing a good job. But two days ago... We were flying over the outskirts of Stalingrad when we encountered AA fire. I ordered the attack to continue despite that. We were so close to our target. But then... Marina was hit.” Anna started to cry at this and Yevdokia felt tears in her own eyes, but she continued regardless, “I didn’t see it personally, but... She fell off her broom. Olga, her caster, er, co-pilot, she landed as quickly as possible to help her, but... Marina was already dead. It... it was almost instantaneous, her spine and lungs were hit. She... she didn’t suffer... Anna... It’s my fault. I ordered the attack to continue... I...” Yevokia stopped talking, overwhelmed by her own sadness. Marina’s mother was openly crying, “No... No... NO!” She shouted, standing up, “This is a bad joke! My... Marina wouldn’t do that! She can’t be dead! She’s a Witch, she can do anything with magic! You’re lying! YOU’RE LYING!”

Yevdokia sat there, watching Anna lose herself to grief and despair, hearing her rant and plead, unable to help the other woman. A loud pounding on the backdoor door startled her before it opened, revealing the old man she had asked for directions. “Is everything alright? I heard shouting. Why are you crying, Anna?” He asked, looking equally confused and concerned as he stepped into the small kitchen, closing the door behind him. All Yevdokia could do was shake her head at him. She had already told one person today about Marina’s fate, she couldn’t bear to do it a second time.

Anna ran towards him, pressing her head against his chest. “Hush, it’s alright. What happened, Anna? Did something happen to Mikhail?” He asked as he hugged her back, looking at Yevdokia. Anna didn’t answer him, she was crying too heavily. The commander inhaled deeply. No, she owed it to her friend to deliver the news of her death to her family. “Marina has been killed. Two days ago, flying over Stalingrad.” She managed before her voice failed.

The old man seemed to age before Yevdokia. Tears started to glisten in his eyes, but he kept some of his composure. “How...” He began as he hugged Anna tighter, “How... I don’t understand...” Yevdokia wanted to bury her head in her hands, but the right one was shaking too bad. She looked down at the floor as she explained, unable to meet the man’s eyes again, “Marina... was a member of the 588th Night Bomber Regiment, serving at the Stalingrad front. That night... we were flying over the city when... we flew into AA fire and I ordered the attack to continue. Marina was hit and... fell. When... we got to her, she was already dead. It’s my fault.”

Yevdokia stood up, putting her coat back on. She couldn’t take this, she couldn’t look at Anna’s grief anymore. She wanted to leave, to leave this all behind, and never be responsible for another death again. But there was one more thing she had to do before she could leave. It was heartless, but the Night Witches had decided it would be for the best this way. “Um... Mrs. Raskowa... Anna...” The older woman didn't react. Yevdokia continued regardless, “The... the funeral was yesterday, the whole unit attended. Marina is buried outside of Kamenyy, under a group of birches. When the city has been liberated, I will take you there, I promise.” Yevdokia pulled out a picture with her left hand and held it out to Anna, “This picture was taken in October. Marina is in the front row, second from the left. She’d want you to have it.” Mrs. Raskowa didn’t take the picture, she buried her face deeper in the man’s chest. The commander gently placed the picture on the table. It had been charmed so that only members of Marina’s family would see the figures in it move. “Look at it when you’re ready. I’m sorry it had to come to this, Anna. It’s my fault, and I wish the bullets would have hit me. But know that what Marina did was important and that her friends will honour her legacy. I’m sorry.” Yevdokia repeated as she turned to leave.

“Wait!” The old man called out. “I don’t understand! Marina wasn’t in the Army! How can any of this be?” The Witch stopped but didn’t turn. She couldn’t face them again. “I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry.” She managed before leaving the house. Yevdokia disapparated as soon as she had close the door behind her. She didn’t care if somebody saw her or questioned her sudden disappearance, she wanted to be alone. When she reappeared at the apparition-point, she fell to her knees and cried.

Yevdokia cried until her eyes were raw and no more tears were coming. Her wet face hurt in the cold winter air, but she didn’t care. Marina was dead, and she had killed her. She had killed her friend! No matter what the others had said, she should have aborted the mission. But she wanted to do her best. To make a difference in this war, no matter how small, so that there would be no more suffering. Now she had told a mother that her daughter wouldn’t return, that she was buried in the steppes near Stalingrad, ripped apart by bullets. Anna’s suffering was on her hands alone. She hated this war, this Regiment, the Germans, her role as commander. She hadn’t exactly volunteered for the job, Marina should have been in command! Yevdokia curled up in the snow. It should have been her. It should have been her...

The sky had clouded over and snow began falling gently to the ground. Silence fell over the base, not a single sound could be heard, not even the artillery in the distance or the planes overhead. The world seemed to sleep during the winter, no animals scurried around, no birds sang, no insects buzzed, the small and noisy creeks were frozen over, robbing the world of their happy splashing. Now there was just silence. And coldness of the heart.

It should have been her...

\----------

End Note: There you go, we got a bit of happiness with the first of some planned relationships officially beginning, and lots and lots of sadness in the second half. I honestly had to stop writing and take a breather at a certain part. The next chapter will be likely as long as this one, definitely arrive before the 10th and conclude Arc I of this story. Stay tuned, things will get better, I promise.

End Note 2: The song in this chapter is called _Dark is the Night_. It was composed by Nikita Bogoslovsky, lyrics by Vladimir Agatov and performed by Mark Bernes. I don’t own the song or the lyrics. I altered the lyrics a bit, but I tried to keep as close to the original as possible. I think the song is really beautiful, especially since it was written in 1943 and wanted to include it. In this fic it was published one year earlier, in the Winter of 41/42. I’ve also read up and apparently, you’re allowed to embed videos from YouTube. I won’t do that, mainly because I don’t mess with embedding stuff, but here’s the link to the version of the song I used, which should be ok to post here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HjmmxX5U2VM

The poem is called _‘Tis time, my friend,_ written by Alexander Pushkin and translated by Babette Deutsch. I own neither the original nor the translation.

End Note 3: The historical Marina Mikhaylovna Raskowa (née Malinina) was born on the 28th of March 1912. After studying chemistry and engineering she worked in a dye-factory, married Sergey Raskov and in 1930 her daughter Tanya was born. In 1938 she was the navigator on the _Rodina_ , a converted long-range bomber. The all-female crew wanted to set an international women’s record for straight line distance flight and managed a total distance of 6,450km. At the end they couldn’t find a suitable landing strip and Marina had to parachute out of the plane ahead of a crash landing since her position would be too exposed in that scenario. She survived the jump but was afterward unable to find the plane and had to survive in the wilderness for 10 days without a survival-kit until she finally found the plane and the rescue-party. During the Second World War she was the driving force in the founding of three all-female aviation regiments: the 586th, 587th and 588th. She died at age 30 on the 4th of January 1943 after her plane crashed during a forced landing at the banks of the Volga. She had tried to lead two other planes to the first operative airfield near Stalingrad.


	15. Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversation; Confrontation; Decision; Burden; Acceptance; Replacement; Freedom; Victory; Council; Honour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: Hello everyone and welcome the final chapter of Arc I. First of all, sorry for the delay. The old adage that nothing is scarier than a blank page is true and I had a bad case of writer’s block. It resolved itself eventually once I forced myself to write and re-write this chapter. I think we all learned a valuable lesson about deadlines and how to avoid them though. I’ll still do my best to adhere to the old ‘hopefully once a week’ if possible. So take this chapter as my Christmas/Yule/End-of-Year/Normal-Day-in-December Gift to you. Arc II will most likely begin in the first week(s) of ‘21. Another saying is, translated, You shouldn't hurry or else you'll have ugly children, so... I'll do my very best and let's leave it at that. That being said, I hope you enjoy. More details in the End Notes.

Chapter 15 – Glory

The rest of the day of Marina’s funeral passed in a daze for Sofiya. She first went to the common room, but it reminded her too much of her late friend. She went to bed, trying to sleep, but couldn’t find rest there either. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the casket being lowered into the grave. Finally she went to her ‘hangar’, trying to do some maintenance. She lost herself in the work for some time, but all to soon all brooms were in perfect condition. Now, she sat on a chair, staring at the walls and flexing her hurting hand, lost in thoughts and sadness.

If she was completely honest, she knew that something like this could happen when she joined. But all the times they got away or only got injured... The possibility of death faded with time passing. Or maybe it was the famous ‘invincibility of youth’ that the older people liked to talk about. But now she knew they weren’t invincible, and that thought scared her. What if more of her friends would get hit or die? What if something happened to her? Or to Khiuaz?

She thought back to the kiss they had shared three days ago. They hadn’t really talked much after that, content to hold each other. They had stopped when they heard a door open, and after that both had been either too tired or too busy to talk. Sofiya had planned to speak to Khiuaz about their relationship over their days off, about what it meant for her and how they would make it work, but then...

Now, at Koliada, she sat alone in the hangar, the brooms and the ever-burning lanterns her only company. Sofiya sighed and stood up. Maybe if she went to bed sleep would come now. Sofiya felt exhausted, physically and emotionally. She left the tent and looked around, surprised that it was already dark outside. How long had she been in there? Too long, the Witch decided as she walked to her room. The common room was not as deserted as she thought, Aleksandra, Tatyana, Polina and Khiuaz sat on various armchairs and sofas. The room was silent as she entered and Sofiya had the suspicion that she hadn’t interrupted any conversations. The mood felt oppressive and dark, like it had all day. As she looked around Khiuaz met her eyes and smiled slightly. Well, now’s a good enough time as any, Sofiya thought as she returned the expression and nodded back outside. Her friend rose and made her way over without a word. Everybody seemed too occupied by their own thoughts to notice anyway.

Once outside Sofiya re-entered her hangar and lit the lanterns again, followed by Khiuaz. As soon as the tent-flap closed, they embraced each other, just enjoying the feeling of holding someone close. “About the other day...”Sofiya started. “Do you want to talk about that _now_?” Khiuaz responded, her voice sounding strained. Sofiya felt her friend’s body tighten in her embrace. “Well… I mean… We have to sometime.” - “Probably… But please not today, Sofiya. Just hold me… Please” Khiuaz said quietly and relaxed again.

Sofiya didn’t know how long they stood in the cold tent, just holding each other close, but it seemed all too short when Khiuaz broke the embrace and took a step back from her. She conjured another chair and sat down, motioning for Sofiya to do the same. “I just can’t believe she’s dead, Sofiya…” Her friend started, “Marina of all people...” She trailed off. “I, um... I liked your song.” Sofiya said. “Thanks.”

Silence fell. “Happy Koliada.” Khiuaz whispered sadly after long minutes. Sofiya scoffed. They should be singing and having a good time right now. Instead they had to bury a friend. The young woman stood up and began pacing. Her blood pressure rose and her hand started aching again. Khiuaz said something but she ignored her friend. It wasn’t fair! They were doing what was right, fighting against the fascists and this is how the fates rewarded them! Excommunicated, alone, forced to leave the country should they win...

She missed her family. Her home. The knowledge that no matter what she did, she would always be welcome at home. Her mother would make a hot dinner, her father would tell his bad jokes and laugh the loudest at them, maybe her brother would show up and talk about aeronautics with her. A warm living room would await her, a soft bed and the feeling of being welcome and loved... Sofiya would give the remains of her left hand to return there now. Tears started to form in her eyes. And Khiuaz, what about Khiuaz! If something happened to her... No, that couldn’t happen. But she had thought the same about Marina. She wouldn’t survive such a hit. She had just found love and-

“Sofiya! Hey!” A hand gripped her shoulder and turned her around. Khiuaz looked at her with worry, “What are you doing? Are you alright?” Sofiya couldn’t stop it. She hugged her friend tight and began to cry again. All the grief about Marina, the funeral, their situation, her family... She let it all out until her throat hurt. A hand began gently stroking her back and made only more tears flow.

Sofiya didn’t know how long she cried. She was however surprised when the tears stopped. She was feeling... less miserable, as if a weight had been lifted. “It’s ok, Sofiya, it’s ok...” Her friend whispered. Sofiya broke the embrace, feeling awkward all of a sudden. But Khiuaz just smiled at her and the feeling disappeared, replaced by exhaustion, emotionally and physically. “I... um...” Sofiya started, “I should go to bed.” – “You should. Things will look better tomorrow.” Sofiya turned to leave and stopped, “Khiuaz? Um... Thank you. Happy Koliada.” She said, turning around again briefly before leaving.

When she fell onto her bed, sleep quickly claimed her. Maybe things would really look better the next day. Maybe not. But Sofiya knew that she would always have a friend in Khiuaz.

\----------

For the first time Yevdokia dreaded the visit to HQ. The last days seemed like a blur: She had been holed up in her room, alternating between crying fits, staring into the distance and restless sleep. Summoning the energy for getting dressed and apparating to report for duty had taken the better part of the day. When Yevdokia had looked in the mirror she paused. Her face was pale and sunken, her eyes red from crying and lack of sleep, her hair in disarray... She looked like she had in December, like a corpse. Like Marina...

Yevdokia shook her head as she moved mechanically along the familiar route, trying to clear her head of those thoughts. She could, and likely would, cry again after the visit to HQ was concluded. The young woman knocked with her left hand, her right one was shaking again, entered and saluted. As usual, General Zhukov was alone, not even his aide was present. “Welcome back, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel Bershanskaya.” He greeted her, not even looking up while shuffling papers around the table, “Your leave was fine I trust?” – “Well...” She began but trailed off. “Well what?” The General asked, sounding annoyed.

Yevdokia took some steps forward to get time to think. She would have to tell him, he was her commanding officer, but... She didn’t want to. She wanted to go back to her room and hide again. At least that way nobody would get killed. But she knew that she would let Marina down if she acted that way. Yevdokia had promised at the grave to continue the fight in Marina’s honour, and that meant reporting at HQ and getting new orders. “During our flight on the last night,” She began, looking straight ahead, “We encountered AA fire near our last target. I ordered the attack to continue and... Marina Raskowa was killed. We... We could rescue her body and buried her outside Kamenyy.” She felt like crying, but no more tears came. She had used them all up.

General Zhukov’s slightly annoyed expression didn’t change, “And you didn't tell me at the time? Well," He sighed, "I’m sorry for your loss, Lieutenant Colonel.” Then his head turned to the table and he began pointing at lines on the map, “As you can see, we made some gains in the time you were away, mainly...” Yevdokia tuned him out. She told him her friend had died and all he did was complain about not being informed and say that he was sorry? Did he know of the sacrifices they made? Something in her stirred to life again. All of her frustration and grief came to the surface. “No you’re not.” Yevdokia muttered. The General paused and looked up, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Excuse me?” – “You’re not sorry Marina died.” The Witch didn’t know what came over her, but each word made her feel a bit better, “You... You just push around Regiments on your maps! You don’t care if any of your soldiers die, and you don’t care that Marina died! But I’ll tell you: She died because of you! Because you wanted us to fly one more mission! We should already have been on leave! But no, you ordered us to fly and now she’s dead! She’s dead and buried and I had to tell her family, not you! You just sit here at your table and offer hollow words! _We_ chose to fight for _you_ , the least you can do is be honest that you don’t care!” At the end she was nearly yelling, but felt better for a moment.

Then she saw his eyes and the feeling evaporated. Zhukov’s face was twisted in anger, and if looks could kill she would have long been dead. But instead of yelling at her like he did before, he just breathed deeply a few times before speaking with clenched teeth, “Lieutenant Colonel, you are young and obviously grieving, so I will let this slide. But if you dare to speak to me like that again, I’ll-“ – “You’ll do nothing!” Yevdokia said defiantly, “You can’t do anything! You need us and-“ – “SILENCE!” He yelled, pounding his fist on the table. The young woman was startled, a feeling of dread began to rise in her stomach. She had made a mistake...

The General took another deep breath before continuing, his voice less loud but still hard, his eyes still glinting dangerously, “I can and will have you shot for insubordination if you continue talking to me like that! Do you understand?” Yevdokia glared at him. If he tried that, she would curse him to next week and back. They glared at each other for long seconds before Zhukov looked away and sighed, “You have no training as a soldier or officer and it shows. You’ve never seen your friends and comrades die.” He said, sounding a bit less hostile, “I have been fighting since the Great War, before you were born. During ‘Brusilov’s Breakthrough’ in ’16 we lost half a million men...” He looked into her eyes. His voice was as hard as his eyes were, “In war people die. That’s all there is to it. You have to deal with it as a soldier and as a commander. Ms. Raskowa, along with countless other men and women, made the ultimate sacrifice, and I truly regret every death on our side. But if we get bogged down by grief we might as well lie down and die. You’re commanding a Regiment and I expect you to execute my orders without question, understood?” Yevdokia nodded. Zhukov however wasn’t finished, “But let me repeat that you’re on thin ice. If you talk to me like that again, I _will_ have you shot, if it’s the last thing I do!” – “But,” Yevdokia felt the desperation rise again, “How do you deal with your friends dying? How can you send men and women to their deaths?”

General Zhukov's gaze didn't leave her, “We’ll do what we have to win. If we lose, the enemy will kill every man, woman and child. In war soldiers die and if I acted like you each time someone died because of my orders I'd be unable to command anything. Their sacrifice will ensure our victory, and they will not have given their lives in vain. I’ll grieve for them in the ruins of Berlin.” He turned back to his maps, “And in the meantime I'll give the fascists something to cry about. Now, if we’re finished here... Look at these areas here and here. We suspect the Germans have command-posts there and...”

\----------

Sergey sat up in his bed and groaned. He felt like shit. Ever since the funeral he hadn’t slept well, but that could be expected. Yet, there was some kind of restlessness inside him that kept him from sleeping. He rubbed his eyes and thought about Marina. She had been… not a friend, their relationship wasn’t that close. But since she died, Sergey felt the old tiredness and indifference creeping back, despite his promise to continue to better himself. After all, if any of them could die, why should he continue to care? He was still young and had a good education, he could make a living elsewhere. Maybe not in Europe, but in the Americas or Asia? A degree from Durmstrang held weight around the world. He could build a new existence for himself, find a wife…

He shook his head, stood up and stretched. No, he couldn’t abandon the Night Witches. He had sworn an oath with them, but even if not, he owed it to Marina. But now they were a Witch short and…

Sergey sat down on his bed again. The idea hadn’t left him alone for some days now. He wasn’t that good of a flyer, but he certainly could cast a _bombarda_. The unit needed a replacement. He doubted that Yevdokia would search for another Witch to replace Marina and Wladimir was a Muggle, so that only left Sergey. But would the commander agree? Yevdokia had stayed in her room these past days and he didn’t want to disturb her. But today she would get the new orders, and today he would have to talk to her. If he wanted to go through with this...

He owed it to Marina to take her place, yes, but... Was he really, truly ready to risk his life and limb? He could just as well continue to stay behind, brew his potions and occasionally cook. His extensive knowledge of portkeys would prove just as useful and justify his staying with them. But as soon as Sergey had thought this, he felt a strange uneasiness in his stomach and sighed. He might not be a Noble anymore, but he had sworn an oath and made a promise to help the Witches. That included potions and enchantments and now... Flying and killing. Would he want the blood on his hands? His family wasn’t threatened by the war, at most they’d lose some Datchas by accidental shelling or wildfires, his parents wouldn’t be drafted to fight, there always would be something to return to...

Sergey stood up, his decision made. He would fight with them, he owed them that much. He swore to fight alongside them and despite everything, he was a man of his word. They treated him a lot better than he deserved, considering his actions in the past. He should give something back.

His mind made up he went to his door. Yevdokia would return soon he guessed and if he was lucky he could talk to her before they flew tonight. And if she said yes, at the very least it would give him something to do during the long nights...

\----------

“All right, listen up!” Yevdokia said as she entered the common room. She had suspected that her friends would expect her return and her hunch proved correct. “General Zhukov has given us new orders! Beginning tomorrow, we are to drop propaganda leaflets over the city for a couple of days. The General thinks it might persuade some of the Germans to surrender. Sofiya, we'll need the modified brooms again, can you do it until tomorrow?” - “Um... Yes, I think. Now that I know what to do it should be easy.” - “Good. Needless to say the casters will be staying home for this, but we can alternate each night if you want to. That's all.”

The commander nodded at her Regiment and hurried to her room, not wanting any conversation right now. She wanted to be alone and think about her conversation with Zhukov. However, Sergey was quicker and intercepted her. “Yevdokia? Can I talk to you for a moment? Alone?” He asked. The Witch studied him. He never wanted to talk to her alone and he seemed... Nervous? And if a Noble who was educated to show no emotions seemed nervous to _her_ , that meant nothing good. She sighed, “All right, but be quick, I want to sleep.” She opened the door to her room and gestured for him to enter. Yevdokia followed him, closed the door behind her and sat on her bed, exhausted by her meeting with the General earlier. What came over her to question him like that? She had risked the fate of the Regiment, they depended on his support. If he hadn't been strangely commpassionate...

“Yevdokia?” Sergey ripped her from her thoughts. The commander shook her head, “Sorry, I was thinking about my meeting. What do you want?” - “I want to fight in Marina's place.” The former Noble said confidently.

Yevdokia was taken aback. Had she misheard? No, he clearly said that he wanted to... Fight? She looked at him again. He stood tall and rigid, like he would have at school when they answered questions. Sergey seemed determined, but... Yevdokia wondered... “Why?” She asked. He was silent for some moments before speaking, “Like I said at the funeral, Marina rescued me from myself. She told me to find a reason to fight for, and that reason is you. This unit. We all swore the same oath when the Ministry abandoned us, and I have to act upon it. You need another person for her broom, and I'm the only one available. I'll have to fly as caster, but I'm sure Ms.- Olga wouldn't mind flying.”

Yevdokia leaned back against the wall, her head in her hands. Deep down she knew he was right, and she had asked herself the question before. With the way they were fighting no one could fly effectively and cast spells at the same time. But letting a pureblood Noble fill Marina's seat... Why was it always her who had to decide everything? Couldn't he just have shown up tomorrow and demanded to fly in front of everybody? She wouldn't have to think about it otherwise, the crowd would decide. This way she could refuse, no one would know about it and one of them would be safe each night. Then again, the broom-crews were used to each other by now... She groaned.

“Are you alright?” Sergey asked concerned. “Yes, yes...” Yevdokia answered. She didn't want to deal with this, she wanted to be alone. She felt her hand beginning to shake again as it always seemed to do when she was annoyed or desparate. “I'll think about it. If you want to be caster you'd have to stay back for the next days anyway. I'll tell you when we're flying proper missions again.” To her relief he nodded, “Thank you for giving me the chance to fight. I'll leave you be.”

When he had left Yevdokia buried her head in her pillow. She could feel a rage building inside her that she felt more and more often these past days. Especially earlier today, when she had confronted the General. Why was everything so difficult? Couldn't he just say 'Fly there, kill everyone, come back' and that was it? Why couldn't she handle losses like he did? He was a highly praised officer, why couldn't she do it? She was a Witch after all! Why did her friend have to die? Her anger built but she couldn't cry. Not anymore. Then, as suddenly as it had come, her rage disappeared to be replaced by... nothing. Yevdokia just lay on her bed with her thoughts empty until she fell asleep. At least in sleep she would know some peace, even if just for a few hours...

\----------

All in all the mission went well, Sofiya thought as they landed. The modifications could be made much quicker now that she knew what she was doing and the German AA had been less than usual. They dropped their leaflets and flew back without any problems. She was relieved, especially considering the last mission they had flown ended...

Sofiya shook her head and looked around, trying to distract herself. All the casters had waited for them. They seemed equally relieved as she was, and for a moment it almost seemed like the 'old days' during the summer and fall when they seemed immortal... When Sofiya had seen the useless fire of the AA guns tonight she almost froze. For a split second she was back flying through the shrapnel, the panic in her rising and her hand hurting. Marina lay on the red snow, dead, ripped apart by the AA. Only she was wearing Khiuaz' face. Her eyes lost their friendly glimmer, her mouth was red with blood and would never smile again, her back broken by the fall... Then Yevdokia gave some orders and Sofiya was back in the present on a mission to drop propaganda. She didn't have any more flashbacks during that flight, but it had been all she could think about for the rest of the sortie.

Someone hugging her from behind yanked her away from those thoughts. Sofiya was surprised, but somehow she instantly recognized the touch, “Khiuaz, what are you doing?” She laughed as she freed herself and turned around. Her friend smiled at her and gave her another quick hug, “I'm just happy you are back in one piece!” - “It went perfectly, almost no AA and no strong wind.” - “Sofiya, listen...” Khiuaz started, her smile fading, “Can I talk to you? Alone?” The young Witch was confused. “Um, yes, sure. Help me collect the brooms, we can talk in the hangar.”

The two Witches took the brooms out of thankful hands and carried them to the hangar as the rest of the women made their way to the shed. As soon as the flying instruments were correctly stored, Sofiya turned to her friend. She opened her mouth to ask but Khiuaz threw herself at her, kissing her deeply and almost knocking the Witch over. Sofiya fought back for a brief moment, but then she closed her eyes and enjoyed it, burying her hands in her friend's hair. But all to soon they needed to breathe again and Khuiaz stopped and took a step back. “Um... I...” She began but faltered. “Yes... Um... So...” Sofiya chuckled. Her friend was flushed and breathing hard and Sofiya doubted she looked any better.

Khuiaz took a deep breath and began, her face serious, “I thought about what we talked about on Koliada. How we should talk about... us.” She sounded like she had rehearsed her speech, “And then tonight, when you were flying over the city I... I couldn't do anything except worry about you. For hours I was thinking about what could go wrong, how you might get injured again, or...” - “Khiuaz, it's ok. Nobody got hurt this time.” Sofiya tried to reassure her friend. It seemed to work, the other Witch was smiling slightly as she continued, “And I'm thankful for it. Really, the relief when I saw you had landed, even though you looked really sad, it was just...” - “I... I had the same thoughts. About how you could be dead instead of Marina. How I was flying through the AA again like when I lost my fingers...” Sofiya said, feeling sad again. Khiuaz gave her another quick hug, “I love you, Sofiya.” She said as she broke the embrace. “I love you too.” Sofiya answered, “And if you don't want to talk about it, I-” - “No,” her friend interrupted her, “I think we need to.” - “Um, do you... Do you think we could make this work” Sofiya asked, feeling herself becoming red in the face, “I, um... It's embarassing but...” - “But what?” - “I've never... had something like this. A relationship I mean, and...” She laughed nervously, “I don't know what to do...”

Khiuaz looked at her with a confused expression, “But during sixth year you dated Sasha Malenkov, right?” - “Well, um...” - “So you didn't... you know?” Khuiaz was as red as Sofiya at this point. “Didn't what?” Sofiya asked. “You know... Hold hands, kiss and... Well... People talked and...” Sofiya was shocked. Yes, she had dated Sasha for a brief time, but it had been just one of her crushes. “Khiuaz,” She looked at her friend, “We didn't even kiss.” Her friend seemed relieved at her words, she was even smiling again, “You really want this?” - “Khiuaz... It took me a while to realize but I love you.” This time Sofiya hugged her friend, “And I want to be with you. I want to hold you, I want to kiss you and I want to fight alongside you.” She said in her friend's ear, “And after this is over, I want to stay with you.” - “And I want to stay with you,” Her friend answered, “We can build a new life somewhere else where people are grateful for what we did. We'll have a nice little house, a cat, a huge backyard, apple trees...” Khiuaz listed all the things they would have, but Sofiya didn't really hear her. She was overwhelmed by the love she was feeling for her friend, by her acceptance of the relationship, by the knowledge that now she would never be alone again. Tears began forming in her eyes.

Khuiaz seperated a bit from her after some moments and looked at her, their faces almost touching. “Sofiya... What about our friends?” She asked. “The others? What about them?” Sofiya answered. “Well...” Khuiaz said nervously, “Do you think we should tell them?” Sofiya sighed as she thought. They were her friends from school, yes, but... Prejudices were strong in society, magical and muggle both. She couldn't decide and she didn't want to right now. Why couldn't she just hold her friend for a while without having to worry about something? Her tears of happiness began to fall and turn into tears of frustration. “They have enough to think about as it is.” Khiuaz decided for her, “Plus... You know how people are...” She looked at Sofiya, gently wiping away her tears with her thumbs, “They are our friends and I trust them to respect our privacy. Also,” She showed her beautiful smile again, “No one really questions where we are or what we do during the day.”

The two Witches held each other close for some time more before they parted with a final kiss and went to the shed. This time, Sofiya thought, hopefully neither of them would have nightmares. She was far too happy for that...

\----------

Sergey held on to the woman in front of him as the broom accelerated. "Keep your hands off my hips you pervert!" Olga shouted. His hands weren't even near any indecent areas, but he still lowered them and grabbed the broom, now again afraid of slipping. In theory his plan sounded nice, after all anyone could sit on a broom and cast. The commander had thought about what to do and had told him he could fly after they had dropped all the leaflets. Yevdokia looked sick as she told him, and he could somewhat understand. After all, he was replacing her friend. He swore to her that he wouldn't mess this up and the next night he was to have his first training-flight. They had no missions then and training at night would simulate a real mission. He hadn't been nervous at all as he had approached the brrom and Olga, who would be flying. The woman looked at him with some apprehension, but he could understand that too. He'd just have to prove himself in their eyes, and delivering adequate results in training would be his first step.

But now he knew how seriously he had underestimated what they did. The wind was relentless, even though he was sitting behind someone. The targets were beneath them only for the fraction of a second and the wind threatened to rip his wand away. He was only casting _stupefy_ for the moment, as explosions would lead to questions, but he still missed the first three times and his frustration grew. They made it seem so easy in their stories and reports, why couldn't he do it? He was a Noble after all!

"You know, if you didn't hold your wand so rigidly you might at least miss more closely!" Olga yelled. "The wind will rip it away if I don't!" He shouted back, his frustration growing. He felt the broom slow and then stop completely, hovering about 100m over the frozen steppe. The Witch turned around and looked at him angrily, "Stop whining! Apply a sticking charm to your glove and aim where we will be, not where we are! The spell has the same speed as we do! It's not that difficult, you know? Basic math!" Without another word she turned back and accelerated again. Sergey grumbled and charmed his glove. The grip was better, he grudgingly admitted.

As they made their next run he took her advice and aimed a bit ahead. The spell still missed but was a lot closer to the intended target. If it had been a _bombarda_ he might have knocked one or two enemies over. Sergey sighed, Olga had seen it of course and she would be insufferable now. At least he did his best though, and even if he wouldn't admit it, her advice helped...

"I said hands off!" She yelled at him again, "Fucking pervert! You should know how to grab a broom!" Sergey was silent. She could curse as much as she wanted, if she did her part he would do his. And besides, it was a strange kind of fun, flying at such high speedsand casting over such a distance. Though he suspected that feeling wouldn't last through his first real mission.

The broom turned and approached the targets again, picking up even more speed. His training might take a while...

\----------

Polina lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. As January went on the missions got less and less and soon after starting to fly again they were only 'on call' for special missions. Apparently the remaining targets weren's important enough to justify using them. According to Yevdokia the Red Army now had airfields near Stalingrad and planes better suited for large-scale bombardments. At least Sergey hadn't made a complete ass of himself during his first mission. He was nervous and pale, but there was little AA and he hit his targets. Afterwards he quickly vanished, but Polina couldn't fault him for that considering her first sortie. Still, seeing him on Marina's broom... She sighed. It was nearing three o'clock in the morning now and they had the night off again. She could be sleeping right now. But as soon as she closed her eyes she longed to be on her broom again, to feel the wind, to sit behind Sofiya and rain down death on the invaders...

With another sigh she got up, put on her boots, grabbed her coat and left her room. Flying had effectively made her nocturnal, she realized, and she likely wasn't alone. Maybe someone would be awake so they could talk for a bit. Otherwise she could still walk around for a bit, maybe tire herself out enough to fall asleep. As she entered the common room she saw Sofiya and Khiuaz sitting together, their heads close and engaged in a whispered conversation. With a smile she made her way over to them, “You don't have to be quiet, I doubt anyone can sleep.” Her two friends startled at her words, “Ohhh, people who are easily startled have a bad conscience, don't you know?” She said jokingly as she sat down next to them. Sofiya looked away but Khiuaz glared at her, “What are you doing here?” - “I can't sleep. I think I've become nocturnal. It's funny if you think about it, Leshy seems to be more active during the day, untypical for a Kneazle, and I...” Polina trailed off. Her friends looked... Strange. Khiuaz was still glaring, far longer than an unannounced entry could justify, and Sofiya still hid her face. “Um, did I interrupt something?” Polina asked, now worried. She tried to keep her spirits up, but if she disturbed something important in the process...

“No,” Sofiya said, finally looking at her, “We were... We just didn't want to wake anybody.” - “So you can't sleep?” Khiuaz added. She finally stopped glaring. Polina shrugged, “Same as you I think. I'm just used to flying at this hour... Then again, since we're flying less and less... Do you think the battle will be over soon?” Her friends looked pensive. “Well...” Sofiya started, “The Red Army seemes to have the upper hand now, that's certain. Maybe you're right, but I don't know much about that stuff. Doki says that Zhukov is pleased though, so the end might be close.” - “Has she said anything about what happens next?” Polina asked. She often wondered how they would continue. For half a year now their sole focus had been one city and the surrounding countryside. “If she knows she hasn't told me.” Sofiya shrugged.

They were silent for a bit, each woman occupied by her own thoughts about the battle before Khiuaz broke the silence, “She has changed, hasn't she? Ever since Marina died, she seems... Distant, somehow. She doesn't laugh anymore and rarely talks outside of the necessary...” - “Marina was her best friend, give her time.” Polina answered confidently, “She'll be back to her old self eventually. I still think about her everyday, and I'm not additionally commanding the Night Witches.” - “I don't know...” Sofiya mused, but Polina stood up. She felt restless again and didn't want to talk about her dead friend. It was bad enough that she was still dreaming about that day. Looking at Sofiya however gave her an idea, “Say, the brooms aren't in use now, right?” - “Um, no, they're in the hangar. Why?” - "Well, maybe I could take one and fly around for a bit?" Polina asked, smiling mischievously. “Are you mad Polina?” Khiuaz asked, “You can't go out and just fly around!” - “Why not? It's not like Yevdokia explicitly forbade us from flying. I'd fly right now if the General had given us orders for tonight.” - “And what if you're spotted? What if some of our men think you're a German plane? What-” - “Calm down, Khiuaz. I'll just fly around the base for a bit, half an hour at the most. What do you say?” She turned back to Sofiya.

The Witch seemed uneasy. “Polina, you know I can't-” - “Come on! Please! I can clear my head and you can continue your whispers.” - “I... Um...” Sofiya looked at Khiuaz for help, but none came, “Well... Promise me you'll stay near the base.” Polina smiled. Apparently their discussion had been important enough to warrant letting her fly on her own. She wondered again what they could have been talking about, but the anticipation of flying replaced those thoughts. “Thank you, Sofiya.” She cleared her throat, “I, Polina Vladimirovna Gelman, swear to keep my flying near our current base.” She swore gravely, her smile ruining some of the seriousness. Sofiya sighed, “Just store your broom correctly when you return.”

But Polina didn't really hear her. As soon as the oath was finished she walked to the door and then outside into the cold night. The sky was almost cloudless, the air crisp and cold. She put on her coat and made her way towards the hangar. Two minutes later she was in the air, flying a wide circle above the base, faster and faster, until she could hear and feel nothing but the wind. It was a poor substitute for flying into combat, but the freedom she felt was the same. The world disappeared beneath her and the stars seemed close enough for her to touch. Polina smiled. She should talk to Yevdokia about flying for an hour when they had no missions. They needed to keep their rhythm and more training never hurt, but deep down Polina knew she just wanted something to do. If she lay in her bed all night she would only think about Marina. And about how she might be next...

\----------

The common room was lively, all the Witches had gathered for lunch. Natalya sat in a comfy armchair and looked around lazily. She had already eaten and now was bored again. Her journal was lying in her lap as she absently flipped through the pages, looking for something she didn't know. Either inspiration or distraction.

A drawing of Leshy, her brief thoughts during the 'Nightmare Weeks', the picture they had taken, how Sofiya and Khiuaz had found a downed plane, their first meeting... It all blended together. Then a sketch made her pause. It was a portrait of Marina. She was wearing her flying cap and smiled as she looked at her. Natalya quickly turned the page. Marina's death and funeral had been bad for all of them, but as January went on, Natalya could accept the fact that her friend was dead. She still dreamed of her and sometimes expected her to walk into the common room though. She missed Marina every day, but...

The door flew open and every head turned. Wladimir more fell than walked into the room and yelled, “Victory! Victory! We did it!” He waved a slip of paper around as he smiled at them. Natalya was stunned. Could it be... “I just got the message! General Paulus has surrendered! The 6th Armyis captured! We won! We won!”

Natalya jumped up from her seat, as did the others. There was more yelling of 'Victory!', hugs and smiled. She joined in. They had done it! The battle was won, Stalingrad had been defended! But... Her happiness couldn't dull the pain she felt because Marina couldn't be here to celebrate with them. The mood in the room told her that she wasn't alone. Their celebration couldn't reach the level it did when the city had been surrounded almost two months ago. When the cheering died down after some minutes the atmosphere felt strangely melancholic, as if they were ashamed to be happy that they had won.

But still, she felt as if some weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Now they knew how victory felt, that this unit was important in this war. The Witches were still smiling and talking, but it was more quiet. Natalya sat back down and opened a fresh page in her journal. All her friends talking and smiling would make a good sketch to commemorate the moment. And maybe Marina would cheer too wherever she was. Natalya could hope at least...

\----------

Vasily Anatolios Rurikov, Headmaster of Durmstrang and Duke of Vladimir-Suzdal, thought of himself as an important man. At Durmstrang he shaped the young and bright minds of the new generation of Wizards and Witches. He was rich, having made several lucrative investments as well as coming into a large inheritance, and he could be invited to any ball or other social gathering he wanted. But this, he thought as he leaned back into his opulent, high-backed chair, this was real power. The Secret Council, in which the Headmaster of Durmstrang always had a seat.

He looked around the chamber. The table he was sitting on was ancient, but still in marvellous condition. The legends said that it was carved by a Norse Wizard during the early days of the Rus’, but no one knew exactly. It certainly was beautiful, carved from a single piece of oak and richly decorated with symbols of the Old Religion. The chairs were very comfortable and gilded, the armrests ended in dragon-heads with rubies for eyes. The other people sitting at the table were just as ornately decorated, if not more. To his left sat Vadim Gregorios Kurakin, Chairman of the Duma. Across from him sat the Volkv, Oleg. The fourth member, Aleksandr Angelos Obolensky, Chairman of the Business Council, sat to the Volkv’s right. All of them were wearing their finest robes and hats for the occasion, except Oleg, who was dressed in his simple ceremonial robe. The chair at the head of the table, reserved for Minister Prince Khilkov, was currently empty.

“Not like the Minister to keep us waiting.” Kurakin broke the silence, drumming his fingers on the table. “Well, he’s only five minutes late,” Obolensky said, “Maybe something came up?” - “Or maybe it’s just one of his power-plays. Ever since he became Minister he’s getting bolder, flaunting his power at every occasion.” Kurakin almost spat. Rurikov found himself agreeing with the man. Prince Khilkov had indeed deliberately kept them waiting in the past. Then again, Rurikov did the same to teachers and students at Durmstrang he didn’t like, so he maybe shouldn’t judge the man too hard. Those who had power would always use it, the Headmaster thought with a smile, and if he played his cards right, maybe there would be Minister Duke Rurikov in ten or twenty years...

The conversation had meanwhile continued, “Still, he should know better who to annoy with his behaviour. I’m a busy man and-” - “The Minister will come when he is ready. Now stop your bickering.” Volkv Oleg interrupted Kurakin. His voice was deep and had something final to it. The room went silent again.

Soon after that the gilded double doors to the chamber opened and Prince Khilkov entered, looking somewhat distressed. “As chairman of the Secret Council I open this session.” The Minister said formally as he sat down. He cat a quick look around the table and began, “My friends, I apologize for this delay. But just fifteen minutes ago I received a message from the German Ministry and had to make some quick inquiries.” This got the attention of the table, even the Volkv sat up straighter and looked curiously at the Minister. “What about, Chairman?” Kurakin asked, “Is he scared that his Pet-Muggle might yet lose the war?”

Khilkov shook his head, “No, the message concerned the magical world. As you know, long ago we agreed with the German Ministry to split our spheres of influence along the old imperial lines. Now, most likely under Grindelwald’s influence and what with all the ‘Great War’, the Muggle-revolutions, and this current war, they dare to demand a change in our arrangement.” Rurikov leaned forward in his chair, balling his fists on the table. How dare they? The old lines had a three-hundred-year tradition behind them! But the Minister wasn’t finished, “Seeing as Grindelwald’s Pet might win his war, they demand influence over the Baltic Area, Poland, Ukraine and our part of the Balkans. ‘The magical sphere should match the political sphere’ they-” At this both Obolensky and Kurakin jumped up, yelling in anger, and Rurikov would have too had he not remembered his education. The Volkv meanwhile looked straight ahead, but his face was twisted in anger.

It took some minutes for the two councilmen to calm down, and it only happened because Oleg stared at them until they sat down. Khilkov cleared his throat and started again, “Well, I think we can skip the rest of the message. As Minister I am required to report the message to the Duma, so we only have time until tomorrow to decide our course. Kurikov and Obolensky,” the Minister said, looking each in the eye, “I already know your stances. Volkv, what do you think?” Rurikov couldn’t see the man’s teeth because of his bushy beard, but he was sure the elder was baring them as he spoke, “I think their ancestors weep at this affront! May Koshei smite them! And I further think ours would cry as well if we caved in! The Baltic and Balkans, Poland and Ukraine, all of their Wizards and Witches belong rightfully to Durmstrang as has been decided three centuries ago! Are they not our brothers and sisters? Many of the greatest Wizards of their time came from those areas, and Magic herself shall strike me down before I see them lost to us!” Obolensky and Kurikov nodded in agreement as Khilkov turned to the Rurikov, “Your thoughts, Headmaster? You’ve been awfully quiet...”

Rurikov was silent for a minute more, carefully laying out his words before speaking. A plan had begun to form in his head, and if he played his cards right, he would gain everything he ever wanted, “First of all, I agree with the sentiment of my colleagues, the old lines must not be touched. But we have to think about the situation. What can we really do to stop the German Ministry?” He let his gaze wander over the silent Council, “We have no army. If they want to break the treaty, an appeal at the International Confederation of Wizards will do nothing but waste time, ours and theirs. We would have to fight for our influence and even start a war of our own.” - “We’ll fight, then!” The Volkv grumbled. “Maybe we will, but it will be bloody and expensive.” Rurikov countered. Obolensky jumped up again, “Headmaster, may I remind you that you swore an oath to never harm Russia in your deeds?” He spat. “I’m aware of my oath, but think about it. Blocksberg Academy has been greatly expanded over the last decades I heard, and they have educated many good Wizards there. Granted, they’re not as good as a Russian Noble,” Rurikov quickly added as the faces in front of him darkened further, “But there is some agreement for Grindelwald in our ranks. A war would be a messy affair, to put it mildly.” - “Are you suggesting that the Nobility is in his pockets?” Kurakin spat. The Headmaster scoffed, “Vadim, you know how the Duma thinks. And don’t tell me that Grindelwald’s plans don’t seem at least somewhat appealing to you.” The Chairman of the Duma was silent at this.

Rurikov leaned forward and smiled wickedly, revelling in the plan he was to unveil, “We don’t need to start a war over this, there is already one raging right now, the Muggle one.” The Council seemed confused at his words but he continued, “If the German Muggle loses his war, their Ministry can’t demand anything of us. Granted, if this war drags on Grindelwald will maybe prove to be right about the Muggle’s behaviour and might get even more power, but what does that concern us?” - “What are you suggesting?” Khilkov asked, frowning. Rurikov’s smile only grew, “If the German Muggles lose the war, our influence will be secure again. Their Ministry can't demand anything from us then. Grindelwald might go ahead and try to control or kill the Muggles if the war turns ugly enough, but as long as he respects our influence, do we really care? If he wants to meddle in our sphere once the war is over, there will be hell to pay for him. We will have shown to be sovereign and strong and the ICW will oppose his meddling then. The request to alter the lines will have no legitimacy. Even if not, we have allies in the east and south who will be threatened by him as well. We can always beat him if he decides to meddle in our affairs.” The silence in the chamber only validated his plan, the Headmaster thought. “What are you suggesting?” Khilkov asked again. “Well, Minister, we have some Wizards, or rather Witches, already fighting in this war. From what I’ve heard they’ve done rather well, even without our support. Just imagine if they had proper help…” - “Headmaster, are you serious?” Obolensky asked, looking shocked at even the suggestion.

Rurikov leaned forward, “I’m not suggesting officially reinstating them, at least not yet. But from what I hear they’ve done rather well at Stalingrad. The war still seems to be undecided, but they might be a deciding factor. If the Russian Muggles win, our influence will be secure. As far as I’m concerned, Grindelwald can do as he pleases in the German sphere. Our area of influence is what matters. All we have to do is let our Muggles win the war and the status quo will be restored.” The Headmaster leaned back, pleased at how this was turning out. “But what about our agreement with the German Ministry to denounce them?” Khilkov argued. “I’m not talking about officially reinstating them, Minister, but they can still receive mail from us, yes? Why not write Uvarov, he’s a good Noble? Or rather, was." He chuckled at his own joke, "The letter we'll send was delivered to him by mistake. Maybe it's about a shipment of… certain supplies that hasn’t arrived yet but has been lost wherever they might be at that time? Or let his family write him, that’s not part of our agreement with the Germans. We ask him through his family what his unit needs to perform better and promise reinstate him to his title if he wins. I’m sure he’ll agree. His wealth is gone, but his family won’t abandon him on the street, we can make sure of that, and a title is still worth a lot even in poverty.” The chamber was silent for some time after that.

Finally Khilkov spoke up again, “So… you’re suggesting we help those Mudbloods in their mad plan to fight the Muggles?” Rurikov just kept smiling, now was his chance: If he convinced the Minister, the rest would surely follow him, “If our Muggles win the war, Minister, you can be sure to get the majority of the Mudblood-vote. After all you've let some of them fight to ‘save their families.’" Rurikov let pure disdain drip into those last words, "You also got complaints from the intolerant Germans about it, but you still supported them. And if they die, well… They still fought for their families and we are rid of some trouble-makers. What matters is Russia and her sphere of influence.” - “And what have you to gain?” Kurakin asked. The man might be annoying, but he wasn’t dull, Rurikov thought as he turned towards him, “Well, if there’s war there are casualties and the possibility of losing. Durmstrang needs pupils, and without those areas there will be a lot less young Wizards to teach and shape. I have to keep my school strong as well as Russia, and my plan can achieve both.” Rurikov said, still smiling. I will also make sure to be remembered as the one who secured Russia’s influence and even let some Mudbloods fight, he added in his head. Maybe I might make Minister in the next election already...

Rurikov shook his head slightly. He couldn’t get distracted now as he stood up and faced the Minister, “I, Vasily Anatolios Rurikov, Headmaster of Durmstrang and Duke of Vladimir-Suzdal, am submitting the following proposition to this council: We secretly support the Mudbloods in their fight, the necessary money can be arranged by creative bookkeeping. Officially and with support of the Duma, we petition the ICW for an official resolution regarding the old contract, that should buy us time at least until August. The Germans won’t do anything during that time to save face internationally. In the meantime we’ll make sure the war turns in our favour and the German’s request will lose credibility by then. After the war is won we reinstate Sergey Vladislav Uvarov into his title. Our influence is secure and our population will be happy.” He sat back down and leaned back, content in the knowledge of his victory. One after the other, Kihilkov, Kurakin and Obolensky agreed to support his proposition. Then all eyes turned to the Volkv, who had been oddly silent during Rurikov's explanation. The old man sighed, “As long as our influence remains and the old contract is honoured, I agree. But I will add for the record that I am not happy with your… political games. Then again, those are not my concern. Magic is.” The elder fell silent again after that.

A small part of Vasily Rurikov wanted to jump up and yell in triumph, but he quickly suppressed the urge. The Headmaster just smiled at the Secret Council, thinking back to before the meeting had begun. Yes, he nodded to himself, this was true power. Five men had just agreed to save Russia from foreign influence, and he would make sure that Russia would remember his role in the process. Being Headmaster Rurikov was nice, but Minister Duke Rurikov had a much better ring to it after all…

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The HQ looked different today. There were more crates and more bustling. Soldiers carried all matter of things to and fro, tents were taken down, trucks were loaded, orders yelled and confirmed. Yevdokia felt a strange kind of sadness. The loss of Marina was still fresh in her memory, but this... This was a different kind of loss. The battle had been won. The German 6th Army had finally capitulated and been taken prisoner. The commander felt... empty, spent. For over half a year she and her unit had been flying in the skies over the city. They had cast spells and dropped supplies. They had killed and one of them had been killed. Now it was over. Stalingrad lay in ruins and untold men and women were dead, but victory had been achieved. Only one question remained: What now?

She entered the war-room. The map-table had already disappeared, General Zhukov sat behind a simple desk, reading papers. “Comrade Lieutenant Colonel Bershanskaya, welcome.” He said, standing up. Yevdokia stood straight, saluted him and looked at his face. Then she looked again. Was he... smiling? “General of the Army Zhukov, I report as ordered.” She said, unsure how to act. He had never done _that_ before. His smile grew wider, “It’s Marshal of the Soviet Union Zhukov now. I was promoted on the 18th of January and I expect to be addressed correctly.” His words were harsh, but his tone was strangely friendly. He pointed at his epaulettes and various medals to emphazize his new rank, but Yevdokia simply nodded, “Yes, Marshal Zhukov. I’m sorry.” The new Marshal didn’t immediately respond, instead he searched his desk for a few moments before he opened a drawer and produced a small heap of papers and two wooden boxes. He placed them both on the desk and opened one, “For your deeds in the Battle of Stalingrad, everybody your Regiment is to be awarded the ‘Medal for the Defence of Stalingrad’. Stand straight.” He added as he walked over to Yevdokia and pinned the medal on her left side. He returned to his desk, opened the second box and took out another medal. “For your command of the 588th Night Bomber Regiment, and for repeatedly and successfully engaging the enemy with minimal casualties, you, Yevdokia Davidovka Bershanskaya, are to be awarded the ‘Order of Alexander Nevsky’. Congratulations.” He said as he pinned the medal to her right side. Zhukov stepped back, still smiling, and held out his hand. Yevdokia grasped it and shook after a moment of confusion.

The Marshal then got the first wooden box and the heap of paper and brought it over to her, “This box contains the medals for your Regiment, Ms. Raskowa has also been posthumously honoured. The papers are proof that you and your Regiment earned the medals, please sign them at your earliest convenience.” He returned to his desk and opened more drawers. Yevdokia just looked at him dumbfounded. Of all the things she had expected to happen, getting medals and praise hadn’t been on the list.

“There is one last medal to give.” Zhukov said, pulling out a richly decorated metal box and more sheets of paper, “Since Ms. Raskowa was, at least according to my very limited knowledge, the first… Witch to die in a war, I pulled some strings.” He handed over the box to Yevdokia, who didn’t open it, she was too confused. Was this his idea of expressing regret for her death? Did he want to do something _nice_ for them? “I wrote some letters and got my request approved today.” He continued, “Ms. Raskowa is to be poshumously awarded with the title ‘Hero of the Soviet Union’, for her founding of your Regiment as well as for her service in this war. Her, well…” He paused, looking away, “You’ll have to fill out some forms so that her family can get her pension. Bureaucracy, you know? Maybe it'll help them.” The Marshal returned to his desk and sat down.

“Considering your... special status in this Army, there will be no official ceremony honouring your Regiment.” Zhukov continued, “I’m sure you understand. But let me say that your unit has been a real asset to me in this battle, and your relentless flying made a difference. These medals express not only my personal gratitude, but that of the whole Army. Now we’re beginning to gain the initiative and I expect you to continue your exemplary service.” He paused and looked at her, as if expecting her to say something. Yevdokia was still too stunned by this turn of events to respond verbally. She just nodded mechanically and seemed to have satisfied the Marshal, as he cleared his throat and continued, “You are to wear the medals on your uniform at all times except in combat. As further recognition of your deeds, your Regiment gets one week of leave, starting at noon today. My, and consequently your, next assignment will be ‘Operation Polar Star’. You'll continue to serve directly under me. On your way out find Captain Kuznetsov, he’ll tell you what to expect, where to report in a week and how to get there. Dismissed.”

Yevdokia saluted mechanically, careful not to drop the papers, and left. When she was outside of the war-room she stepped to the side and sat down in an unused chair. So this was it, she thought, this was victory. A smiling Marshal, a handshake, two medals, seven days leave and then back to war, Gods knew where to and for how long, repeat until you're at Berlin. She felt tears forming in her eyes. ‘Engaging the enemy with minimal casualties’! Only a General or, well, a Marshal could say something like that. Marina had been so much more than a simple ‘casualty’. And yet... They had achieved something. They had helped end the battle. This war their victory too, even if only one man in the whole Army knew who they really were. And only thirteen people knew what it had cost them.

People passed by her, saluting before returning to their jobs. Yevdokia blinked away the tears and absently saluted back, still lost in thoughts. They would continue, this she knew. They had no other choice, their fate was set. They would honour Marina’s wish to defend their loved ones. The Night Witches had to fly until the war was over and then... Then what? Yevdokia sighed, looking around. Everybody had something to do. They had families and jobs to return to after this was over. They had to rebuild the country. The Night Witches...

Yevdokia stood up, abandoning that line of thought. She would think about this future when she was flying over Germany, otherwise it wasn’t really relevant. She had a week off and would make the most of it. If, no, when they had to fly again, they would do so without hesitation. And she, at least, would still fly into hell if it could end the war tomorrow. She owed that much to her friend. After all, hell couldn’t possibly be worse than this war. And if she didn’t make it to Berlin... At least she would see Marina again. The commander strode off to find Captain Kuznetsov. Another battlefield called, more weeks of flying, more danger, more hollow glory...

The sky was bright blue and not a cloud in sight, as if the Gods celebrated this victory and smiled on them. She took it as a good sign. For her, clear skies meant good fortune. For the Germans, they would continue to mean death. During the day the Red Army fought them and during the night, the Witches would come.

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End Note: I just want to say again that I’m proud of the story so far and hope that I can deliver as well in the next Arc, which will cover the year 1943 and all that happens there. You might want to read up on your history as I will continue to be 'somewhat historically accurate'! Victory at Stalingrad has been achieved, yes, but will the Night Witches break or will they come out stronger, despite losing Marina? Guess I'll have to write and you’ll have to read to find out...

End Note 2: Regarding relationships in fanfics: Be warned that I won’t write any explicit sex scenes for this fic, for any of the planned relationships. There is nothing wrong with limes, lemons, slash and all the other things and citrus fruits people write, and I for one really enjoy reading those. They can be a wonderful addition to a fic or even its centre-piece, but I honestly don’t feel confident enough to write such scenes in a fitting and respectful way. So I guess you’ll just have to imagine those, as the way I would write them would definitely lower the quality of this story, at least in my eyes.


	16. Interlude - Old and yellowed Pages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: Hello readers and Goodbye 2020! To celebrate the end of the year as well as 2 new Kudos (Thank you so much for that!) I bring you this Interlude. Enjoy!

Loud bumps echoed through the common room as the haphazard tower of books toppled over. Some heads turned reflexively but everyone soon lost interest. Books falling down was nothing new, especially when a certain young woman was affected. “Ron! Can't you watch where you're going?” Hermione yelled. “Sorry 'Mione, let me help you...” The redhead said sheepishly as he bent down to pick up the books, “Take the whole library why don't you...” He muttered to himself but not quietly enough. “In case you don't know it's OWL-Year, Ron! If you want to slack off that's your business but I take my education seriously!” Hermione scolded him. “But the exams aren't till the end of the year and it's only the first week! We've not even had all classes yet!” - “So? These grades will follow you for the rest of your life! You can't prepare enough!”

They bickered on as they picked up the books. No one in the common room paid them much attention. Hermione had already made it clear to everyone that the exams were important and after five years all Gryffindors, from first year to last, knew not to disturb her when she was learning. The portrait hole opened and Harry walked in, looking around for his friends. Ron waved him over as Hermione picked up the last books, “Hey Harry, how was detention with Umbridge?” The raven-haired wizard sighed and rubbed his right hand absently, “Just... doing lines. What are you guys up to?” - “The usual, I guess,” Ron chuckled, not bothering with the books anymore, “I just destroyed Seamus in chess and Hermione is already panicking about the exams...”

The young Witch didn't pay much attention to the conversation, though. A certain book had caught her eye. It was smaller than the big textbooks she had gotten from the library and its worn cover, made from leather, only bore two words in gilded foreign letters. Hermione didn't remember checking this book out of the library. Had it slipped into her pile by accident? She thought back to her second year. Could this be another plot from You-know-who? She recoiled from touching it, but then reconsidered. Would He really try the same thing twice? Hermione was undecided for a few moments, but then her natural curiosity won out. He wouldn't try the same plan again and certainly not with a book written in a foreign language that Harry would never touch. As she picked it up a black-and-white picture fell out. She grabbed it and her eyes widened in surprise. A group of young women and men stood in front of an old biplane waving and smiling at the camera. It was winter and they were dressed like those pilots from the First World War she read about, including flying-caps and scarfs, but one of them had something else around her neck... Was that a Kneazle? The creature was black as the night and looked curiously at the camera with eyes that seemed to glow. The front row kneeled and the woman in the centre held up a sign with more foreign letters and the number '588'. It looked like Russian, which only added to the strangeness oft the book. No, You-know-who certainly had nothing to do with this. But what-

“Hermione, you listening?” Ron interrupted her, “Harry was asking if- What's that?” He asked as he saw the picture. Both her friends walked over to her. “That looks like one of those photos from the First World War.” Harry said. “Huh, that's a flying machine, right?” Ron added, “Dad told me about them, Muggles use them instead of brooms. Where did you get that?” - “It fell out of this book,” Hermione answered, handing the photo to her friends, “I don't remember borrowing this book. Madam Pince must have made a mistake...” - “What's it about?” Harry asked. “No idea, it's in a foreign language. Although...” A thought had formed in her mind. She didn't speak Russian or whatever this was, but didn't she read about a charm earlier this evening?

“Wait a minute...” Hermione said as she snatched the book and photo back from Harry and turned to her tower of textbooks. Three minutes of frantic searching and page-turning later she looked up in triumph. “There, I knew it! There's a translation-charm for books and letters! We can learn it for extra credit this year. It only lasts a day but can be repeated infinitely. Hmm... It doesn't look too complicated, but those movements...” She said, more to herself as she read the passage. “Why would you want to perform a spell you haven't done before just to read a book?” Ron asked confused. “Because, Ron, maybe if I know what it's about I know which section to return it to. Madam Pince has enough work already and frankly, the organisation in the library is atrocious. Have Wizards never heard of the Dewey Decimal System?” - “The what now?” Harry asked. “Have you never been to a library other than Hogwarts? Each book is assigned a number according to-” - “Alright, alright, we get it, Muggles are better organized.” Ron said, holding up his hand in defeat. Hermione just sighed. How the magical world worked was sometimes beyond her. “Ok, stand back a bit in case something goes wrong.” She said as she placed the book and photo on her table and aimed her wand. She performed the complicated wand-movement and cast the spell, “ _Transferendum in anglicus!_ ”

The book glowed white for a second as the spell took effect. When Hermione picked it back up the cover read in beautiful gold lettering 'Night Witches'. “Huh,” Ron grunted, “maybe it's a novel? Like 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'?” Hermione meanwhile was looking at the photo. The letters on the sign had changed too. “'588th Night Bomber Regiment - Night Witches'” She read, “What does this mean?” - “Don't look at me, I'm as confused as you are.” Harry shrugged.

Hermione opened the book and skimmed the first pages. Her eyes widened and she read them again more carefully. “Oh my god, I had no idea...” She mumbled. “Anything interesting?” Ron asked, sounding slightly bored. “Oh, it's very interesting. I don't know why I haven't heard about this before... Listen to the preface” She said seriously as she began to read:

_Now that the war is over and the rebuilding has begun, I cannot help but look back on the last years of my life. Six years ago I was nineteen, fresh out of Durmstrang, among the best five in the House of Commoners and had all the possibilities in the world. Then the Germans invaded my country and everything changed. The families and properties of the Nobles were secure behind their wards, but the Ministry did nothing to help the families of the Muggle-born except offer hollow words. Our fathers and brothers were drafted and sent to battle, our mothers and sisters left to suffer alone, killed by the invaders or worse. But the year 1941 not only saw the start of the Great Patriotic War and Grindelwald's ascent to power in Germany, it also saw a much less recorded but nevertheless historic moment: A unit of Muggle-born Witches taking up arms to defend their loved ones, flying under the cover of the night to bring death to the invaders. It was in September of that year that Marina Raskowa took action and persuaded the Minister to let some Muggle-born Witches fight to keep their families safe. The following year twelve Witches, a Wizard, a Muggle and a Kneazle began their fight against the indifference of the magical world to the suffering of the Muggles. They formed the 588 th Night Bomber Regiment 'Night Witches'. I was part of this founding and took part in every action, from our first mission near Demidovka to our last flight over Berlin. _

_This book is based on my war-time journals and is published with the knowledge and approval of the Regiment. Certain elements in the magical world might want to forget that we existed, but we fought and bled and our contributions were neither more nor less important than those of the regular Red Army. Let this book serve as a reminder that it is always right to take up arms to defend those who need protection, and of the price it takes. Our story will be told! The consequences don't frighten us anymore, we already went through hell._

_The war has cost us dearly: Our limbs, our lives and our innocence. We all have been wounded, our bodies as well as our souls. This book is written in blood, ours and the enemy's, but in the end the world knew peace again. I pray to the Gods that it shall last a lifetime. And yet, looking back six years, I'm not angry at myself for having joined this unit. In a world of indifference, disdain and discrimination, we took action and maybe the war ended sooner through our efforts. At the very least we did our part and of that I am proud._

_My book is dedicated to all those untold millions of men, women and children who lost their lives in the Great Patriotic War, magical and non-magical, soldier and civilian, friend, family, lover and stranger alike. May their souls find peace. It is further dedicated to the memory of Marina Mikhaylovna Raskowa, the brightest Witch of her age, founder of this Regiment and my friend, who died on the 4 th of January 1943 while flying over Stalingrad. May the Gods rest her soul._

_Lastly I'd like to thank M. Jacques Dubois and Mme Aurélia LaRue for their assistance. Without their resources I couldn't have published this book and I, as well as the whole Regiment, will be forever grateful._

_Signed,_

_Natalya Fyodorovna Meklin, Paris, Quartier Magique, 1947_

“Written in blood...” Harry repeated absently. “Come again?” Ron asked, but the other shook his head, “Nothing, I was just thinking... Read on, Hermione.” - “It goes on about their founding... Do you know what this is?” She asked, her eyes wide, “All our lives we've been told about the 'Statute of Secrecy' that forbids Wizards from interfering in the Muggle-world. This book says that some women fought in the Second World War! I wonder why no one ever wrote about this in other books?” She said pensively. “Could still be just a novel, you know?” Ron shrugged. “Also if they really fought don't you think that people wouldn't have found out?” Harry added, “I mean, I cast a _patronus_ to save my cousin and they found out about me 'using magic in front of a Muggle' almost instantly. That was just a single spell and this book says they did it for four years? In a war-zone?” Hermione frowned in thought. She didn't know much about novels from the magical world, only that they existed. Her interests lay more in textbooks, but each society expressed their culture by writing, right? Maybe it really was a piece of fiction, she would definitely have heard about Witches fighting in the Second World War. Yet, the way this book looked with its yellowed pages and worn cover, not to mention the photo... It could be authentic. Then again, maybe it was printed this way to emulate authenticity? The young Witch shook her head, she was being paranoid. But Ron's words stayed in her mind, spreading doubt...

“She wrote that she was at Durmstang, right?” The redhead interrupted her thinking, suddenly interested, “That school has produced nothing but Dark Wizards. So we can just assume that it's all lies and that's that.” He concluded, looking pleased with himself. “Just because a Death Easter became Headmaster doesn't mean that everyone from Durmstrang is evil.” Hermione countered. “Plus, Krum at least was a decent enough fellow.” Harry added. At the mention of the Quidditch-Star Hermione and Ron both blushed, but for different reasons. “That git, he nearly tore 'Mione in half during the second task!” The redhead argued. “Ron, you're just jealous he took me to the Ball! Viktor was always a gentleman to me and he believes us that You-know-Who is back, leave him alone!” Hermione scolded him, not meeting his eyes. It was bad enough that she blushed at the memories of the Ball. Thankfully Ron dropped that particular subject, “Still though, a school that allows someone like Karkaroff to become headmaster can't be good.” - “Enough, Ron!” Hermione said as she turned back to the book and sighed, “I guess I will have to find out. If what's written here is true then I can't believe that Binns goes on and on about the Goblin Wars when Witches fought in the Second World War. Do you think some of them are still alive?” She asked, turning back to her friends excitedly. “Who knows?” Ron answered with a shrug, “That's all in the past. Why are you so interested in them anyway? Shouldn't you be angry because they broke the rules?” - “I... Well... It was different back then! Don't you know anything about the war?” - “I know that we won. Didn't we?” Hermione sighed again, “Honestly, Ron, people from magical families could do with a little crash-course in the history of the world. If we had lost you'd know it.” She looked at the book in thought, “1941... The year Grindelwald started his war in the magical world and now this...” Hermione looked at her friends again but only blank stares met her. “Honestly, I'll give you two a lesson in history during the winter break. He was the Wizard that Dumbledore defeated in 1945, making him a hero to the magical world?” Realization dawned on Ron's face and he smiled, “Oh, yes, from the chocolate-frog-cards! I remember!”

Hermione almost threw the book at him. Her mind though was racing with questions. Why had no one told them? Did the 'Night Witches' fight against Grindelwald too? Have they ever met Dumbledore in his fight against him? Could she maybe ask the Headmaster about them? Were they still alive? What if she wrote Ms. Meklin? And the most pressing question of all: How did they manage do it and not be found by the Muggles or the Ministry? She had to investigate. As much as it hurt her to admit it, Ron was kind of correct: The exams were still far away. She could take one or two days to read the book and find out everything about those 'Night Witches'. After all, Hogwarts had the largest magical library in Britain, there had to be more information. If only the books were organized clearly, Hermione thought as she turned back to her tower of books. But that was a problem for another time, for now she had an essay to write...

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End Note: I hope you enjoyed my New-Year-Gift for you. It's primarily an apology for breaking my promise with the last deadline... OK, I lied, I just wanted to push this fic over 100k words before the year was out^^ Nevertheless, I've wanted to write a chapter like this since I first thought of this fic, so I guess I can cross this off my list. See you in 2021!

End Note 2: Don't @ me because of the Latin! The Latin I primarily read is medieval or from the Early Modern Era and those guys, especially in the Middle Ages, had no idea of the correct case or tense. I realize now that I'm getting very defensive writing this, but then again it shows that I think about that stuff before writing it, right? Since spells in the HP-universe might originate from this period it's reasonable to assume that it wasn't always the perfect Latin of Cicero, who was a nerd btw...


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